90-Day No Magic Challenge
by nestie
Summary: Hermione is bad a running, that much is clear. In her defense, the use is going extinct, evolutionary wise. Like wisdom teeth or armpit hair.
1. The Sample Box

Chapter 1: The Sample Box

* * *

Hermione is bad a running, that much is clear. In her defense, the use is going extinct, evolutionary wise. Like wisdom teeth or armpit hair. She's not at risk of being chased every day from the supermarket to her apartment or on her way to the coffee shop, although it is the furthest on her way to work that makes decent decaf tea.

So when she sprints from the train station to the Chess West building, recognizable for its two letters, CW, symbol of the over performing consulting firm, she almost blows out a lung or two. Can't blame it on the shoes either. She's not wearing heels and purposely selected the most comfortable shoes, short of being sneakers, she could find.

What she's good at however, is not wasting what she spends her salary on. Five dollars for a tea might be too much for some people. For her, it's more than that. She gets two packs of sugar, honey, three spoons, a stack of napkins, two lids and an extra cup holder with every purchase. They rarely overflow her desk drawer but definitely her kitchen one. It's worth it I. You never know when you'll need coffee merchandise.

So she protects her purchase with all her abilities, running slow enough to not spill it but fast enough that it won't get lukewarm upon arrival. She takes shallow breaths, avoiding her boobs from knocking down the drink all over her blouse. Not optimum for oxygen intake but necessary.

"New manager in the building, he..." Her coworker's text pings on her phone banner notification.

It's a tough choice. Losing a few second to unlock her screen and read the rest or giving her all to this sprint to make it to her desk in time.

She passes Deena, the receptionist, whom she offers her best smile to and squeezes through the elevator door.

Hermione swiftly drops her purse, deposits her cup on the desk and sits down, all while turning on her computer and typing her needlessly complicated required password as fast as she can. Three times before she remembers to enable the number key pad that's somehow resetting with every shut down.

Hermione has never received a bad grade. Nothing under a B. She's always done what was expected of her, without feeling the burden of it or making any sacrifices. Obedience comes easily. It aligns with her principles and strokes her natural proclivity for excellence. That, she thinks, died in higher education. She buries it right on her first job's tenth day, when her desk phone rings and she picks up to hear her supervisor's voice.

"Are you eating or drinking at your desk?" Frederique asks, neutrality in her tone. HR has drilled passive aggression into the culture, five years prior.

Hermione swallows. "No."

That's it. The moment when she knows she will not obey this time. They'd tell her to stop. To walk the mile of faded carpet to the overcrowded and neon lit break room to chew in front of other people she'd be forced to watch masticate as well. They'd place a neat sheet of paper on her desk, brought by no one in particular, to remind her of the company policy.

"Good," her supervisor approves. "We've been having trouble with some employees leaving crumbs on the floor and using their desk trash to throw away scraps. It's a health hazard. I certainly don't want ants and I know you hate roaches."

She punctuates with a laugh. Hermione does her best - a habit - to try to remember when she ever mentioned her scale of emotions regarding insects. She fails to recall. She forces a chuckle and shoves a polite agreement in there. Maybe "oh yeah that's for sure." Or "Really? Wow, no. Mice would be horrible too."

"Preston is not here today. You're replacing him in the second floor conference room with our new client. Come get his research file in my office on the way. Hurry please, meeting's in two minutes."

Shit. Another obstacle between her and her rapidly cooling tea. She knows beverages aren't allowed in the conference room either. Expensive tech equipment and velvety chairs insurance apparently doesn't cover lemongrass flavored water. She grabs her cup, intent to down its contents on the way and sprints to the elevator. Who schedules meeting in the first thirty minutes of the building opening?

She furrows her drawers, looking for more appropriate shoes, in vain. Now she wishes she'd taken that advice about dressing every day as if she's meeting with clients because you never know. And it is true, you never know when Preston is going to be sick or hungover or feeling like not coming to work.

Her fingers snatch the file from her supervisor's who only looks up to check her outfit and yell at her from her desk that drinks are banned since the debacle of last year's Halloween.

Opening the file, the words jump at her, tea getting stuck somewhere between her throat and her sinuses before spilling out on the carpet, right in front of the conference room.

Client: EnchanTech

CEO and Founder: Draco Malfoy

What a little shit of a hypocrite. After despising and denigrating muggles all his life, there he is capitalizing on muggle technology, amassing even more wealth than he already has. The epitome of the self-made man, who has millions of generational wealth to invest in his own start up.

She puffs up her coils, reminding herself that, at least this isn't a totally bad hair day. He'lol have nothing to say about it. And she steps in.

—

Draco Malfoy has to pee. He's woken late and left his place in a hurry, not because he cares about being on time for people whose livelihood depends on his financial choices but because he wanted to be first at Cafe Mundo to get their lemon scone. Horrifyingly enough the owners refuse to deliver, even when bribed. They believe in equality over pastries and coffees. It even says so on their chalkboard sign and always welcome him with that sly smile and syrupy "happy to see you here."

Here and not in your mansion, they must be thinking. As if he would still live at his parents.

As if mansions are still a thing. He's sent his assistants get it for him before but they all always come back with a different pastry under the pretense of the bakery being out. Sometime they're back with the smallest scones. When he goes himself, the girl at the counter chooses the fluffiest one, as if to incentivize him.

So he has to act like all those other peasants and arrive early or get in line before all the fucking scones are gone. He gets two, one for the weekend when there's no way he's waking up early to hang out with the masses. By the time he makes it to the CW building, it's too late to look for the restrooms as the receptionist already almost bows to him, hushing him into the room with smiles, blushes and small talk about the important work he is doing, whatever that means.

When Draco Malfoy realizes who his philanthropic team lead advisor is, his head throbs. A literal fucking headache takes over him at the mere view of Hermione Granger.

He greets her with a nod that only worsens the pain as she attempts a reluctant smile, looking up from her folder, eyes bulging out of her head.

It would have a comical effect really if he wasn't so pissed. He was expecting a certain Preston Springs, whom he has taken the time to google himself. A sound guy who is part of a rowing club, goes on trips to Thailand and Bali and volunteers in Australia to rescue animals.

Four legged creatures are a no brainer. No controversy, no polemic. Now he has two problems. Granger is probably better than that guy at knowing what she's doing.

Two. She will most definitely push the most inane causes and controversial nonprofits onto him and he is going to hate it.

Where the fuck is Theo? Financial advisor by day, Liquor connoisseur by night. What a joke.

His friend finally arrives, suited up in a trendy mix of wizards robes and muggle suit. A hit in the fashion world and great representation of the now integrated world they thrive to represent, since they happen to be banking money on it every day.

He quickly tap his shoulder and takes a seat as the rest of the advisors and a few members of Malfoy's board as Granger does the same. She peruses over her folder, brows furiously furrowed and snaps it shut in poorly hidden frustration.

"Malfoy... Mr Malfoy," she corrects herself as pairs of eyes already stab her and Theo's body shakes under a light chuckle. "If that's alright with you, I will be leading the meeting today in the absence of Mr. Spring."

He could say no and watch her fume. Reschedule and pack his shit. His company's image his personal image needed expertise and say what you will about Granger but she has a history of getting shit done. This is business.

"No problem. Preston and I hadn't had time to go over his ideas so we can start fresh. I assume he left you a list of the different causes he compiled?"

She winces at how informal he is. She wants to keep the distance of last names and seventy inches of cypress boardroom table. He can't say he doesn't like to hear the Mister coming out her lips. She must be cringing.

Granger gives a furtive glance towards her coworkers before steadying herself. "He did but, in my opinion, those choices aren't necessarily the best for the approach you are looking for."

Draco hears the gasps from her team, even the silent ones only expressed through chests shooting upright and eyes refocusing on his reaction. "What do you mean?" He pretends.

He watches her rise to her feet and levitate the different flyers in the folder to the white board, magically holding there until she walks around the table in the type of pants only some people can pull off.

"Deforestation. Melting icebergs. Whale hunting," she lists with that annoying I'm-better-than-all of-you tone. "All of these are great causes companies should support and donate to. But not your company. You can go anywhere and find advisors with this same cookie cutter list."

Way to bash your colleague Granger. She stopps, realizing how it must have sounded. "Actually, is it possible we speak in private?"

What?

"Hum. Sure."

The others leave the room, save for Theo who only leans forward, attentive, a malicious smile on his face. "She's about to read you to filth," he whispers, amused.

Granger stands in front of the board, her cloud of hair obstructing two pictures behind her. "We both know you're here to redeem your company's image after that comment you made about Dean Thomas and how you plucked him out of the muggle slums. Or that other slip about you needing a project and what better than making sense of muggle nonsense. Or how you said your products are so easy, muggles could use them. Or..."

"We get it Granger, I need causes less bland and more pro muggle."

"You need causes that don't make you look like the kind of shit who cares more about nature and objects than he does actual human beings."

Theo lifts a finger. "Do you talk to all your clients this way or is this special treatment because we made fun of your hair that one time?"

She doesn't like that. He sees the twitch of her hand that almost reflexively shoots up to touch her curls and he gets secondhand embarrassment for a second. The same kind he always feels for his mother when his dad's advisors joke about her being a bad cook.

She ignores Theo and turns her body to Draco. "I can give you better options. You're one scandal away from people boycotting the new product you're supposed to launch in..."

Theo cut ps in, fired up after having been ignored. "Oh yes, because cancel culture is so powerful in real life."

"Get out."

She looks at him, asserting her command.

"Excuse me?"

She stares now.

"Get out," Draco hears himself repeat for her. Theo is going to resent him, although he'll pretend not to. He hates being talked to like a child by a chastising father but this time, he has it coming. He slowly rises and leaves. He won't be waiting behind the door either . Draco will probably have to knock on his door, beg him to open and beg for his forgiveness while Theo drains a firewhisky glass, lecturing him about the rules of friendship, business partnership and classic bromance titles he should read.

Hermione walks to him and sits in the now empty seat with that shirt, way too tight for a professional environment really. She doesn't seem to mind him glancing at it twice, trying to read the print. Something about persisting. She even walks around campaigning for some silly cause.

She points at his forearm and suddenly he's hyper aware. "Can I?" She asks, eyes still open wide like she can't believe she did that and lips parted in expectation. Did her lips get even more plump since Hogwarts or was it the dark lipstick?

"Yes." He's curious to know where this is going. She doesn't seem enraged. Maybe she's harnessed that very emotion into more mainstream behavior. She wouldn't slap him at her place of work, even if she has called him a shit within ten minutes of their encounter.

Her hands grab his sweater and slowly peel back his sleeve to point two fingers at the dark mark carved under his skin. He feels her shudder at the view and the hand that's holding his arm, presses just a bit harder.

"Do you find yourself leaving your arm out of the reflection when you inspect your outfits in the mirror?"

Yes, but he doesn't reply. It seems rhetorical.

"Do you voluntarily wear long sleeves, even at home?"

Sure but he's always cold. Some rare form of mild anemia. Thalassemia, his mom said, or something. Runs in the family.

"Do you avoid reading articles with the mark on it, as an accompanying picture?"

Maybe. That seems oddly specific. Her nails are that square form, Astoria swears by. Something about graves or tombs. He can't remember which ominous manicure jargon.

"What's your point, Granger."

She releases his arm, crossing hers under her chest.

"The truth is, people will forgive anything you do. They already have. Your privilege extends to you forever messing up and forever being absolved."

Zabini said something in that same vein before he drained his glass of rum, said bye to him and Theo a few months ago and stopped returning his owls, calls or messages on the app. Draco thought Blaise was being dramatic. He didn't known it was his friend's last attempt at salvaging their crumbling friendship. His friend's final goodbye.

"It's not my fault if..."

"It never is. But my point is, if you're having trouble absolving yourself, picking better causes might help. Causes no one else will touch because they're scared that their image will suffer the controversy. But your image has reached rock bottom and it forever bounces back. You actually could help."

Why did she make sense? He doesn't want her to. He also doesn't want to stare at her that way. At her lips, at her hair. He can't even remember how to make fun of it, or how he ever could find something bad to say about it, or that he had to pee.

—

"He said yes to donating money to the Werewolves Wisdom Foundation?" Lavender gasps over the phone, clearly doing her groceries as the store's cashier reminds customers of a fifteen percent discount with her amplified voice.

"And to Wizards and Witches of Color annual fundraiser. And to Muggle Awareness Magazine," Hermione lists, non to proud of her power of persuasion. "It's a start."

"It's a miracle you mean. How'd you do it? What did Preston say?"

She's complained about Springs so much, Lavender knows even his most annoying colloquial quirks.

"He'll see my notes soon enough."

They both ugly laugh before Hermione falls silent.

"What's wrong?" Lavender asks, the background noise quieting.

"I realized something. I peaked in high school. I did. Didn't I?" She swallows. "I was first in every class, I helped defeat Voldemort, I was invited to the ball by a famous and international quidditch player. Now look at my life. I'm positively pathetic."

It feels the same as realizing she spent her entire teenage years with two boys and no girlfriends, which she's desperately in need of, now as a adult. She reached out, far and wide to old acquaintances, gone to mixers, after works parties and random meet ups. Found Lavender, hyperventilating in the bathroom.

Lavender goes silent before she carefully crafts her words. "You're comparing your six months first job to a seven year period of extreme events. You're not being fair to yourself. We're all in this weird transition from war kids to barely functioning adults."

How did Lavender turn so wise?

"You're... not wrong I guess. Did you.. read a good self-help book or something? This was very insightful."

There she was, sounding like a jerk again, "Sorry I don't mean to say that you're usually not..."

"It's ok," Lavender laughs on the other end. "Actually I went to Alicia Spinnet's workshop and I read her blog. She tackles those types of conversations. She's pretty good. Did you know she's back at Hogwarts to develop a mental health program?"

No she didn't and she wishes she hadn't known. Now even Alicia Spinnet is doing more important and rewarding things than her.

"Remember that she's older. She's had a bit more time to rank up achievements," Lavender adds in a soothing voice, as if she followed Hermione's predictable anxious thoughts.

"I know. I have to go. Harry and Gin are here."

She hangs up, opens the door and takes a sip of her fresh tea that she went back to buy after work and, upon recognizing the silhouette entering, burns her tongue. For the second time today, she won't be able to enjoy her beverage. Three galleons down the drain.

Harry is standing there, an apologetic smile on his face and a bottle of champagne in his hands, accompanied by Ginny, mouthing something but most importantly Ron, her ex husband. Two years of dating, three years of marriage. Zero months of counseling, though she tried to convince him after what she didn't care to save what was unsalvageable.

"Come in," she smiles back, opening her door while frantically texting Lavender.

[_19:28] I can't believe he brought Ron. We were supposed to catch up and celebrate Ginny's chiropractic office opening_.

Ginny presses her hand. "Sorry, I tried to stop him. He's not staying anyway."

Hermione rushes behind the kitchen counter, pretending to rearrange the plates of amuse-bouche, safer behind the slab of fake granit. Her phone chimes.

[**_19:29] Girl, you're in for a long night. Tell him to go. Major boundary trespassing there._**

_[19:29] I can't. He's eating the appetizers already and Harry filled up the flutes. Ttyl. Good luck on your interview tomorrow_.

Hermione swallows three sips, intently darting her eyes on Harry who sighs and puts down his own glass.

"Ok, it's awkward I know, Ron can you please tell Hermione what you wanted to say?"

Ginny finishes her drink in three sips while Ron leans forward, his hands almost all the way to the other side of the counter, reaching out to Hermione.

"I wanted to tell you that.. you were right and I'm finally seeing someone... hum a therapist I mean. And huh... I wasn't sure you would accept to see me otherwise so I crashed. I'm sorry."

"I'm glad you changed your mind," Hermione says, waiting for more. This couldn't be all. Why should she care that he's improving himself for someone else to benefit from.

"Also... I'm moving. To Barth... a liaison position in a detached department of the ministry. For

wizards with muggle parents...awareness, early services.. It opened and I got it, It pays more, for relocating costs. Even comes with a flat."

Why is he telling her that? Why in person?

[**19:35] Fine. Be polite and suffer then. Say hi to Ginny for me. I'm going to bed early btw. Trying this new magic sex toy.**

"Oh. Hum...Congratulations," Hermione automatically says, looking up from her phone.

Neither Harry nor Ron have bought into cellular technology yet. Harry doesn't like to be bothered. Ron doesn't want to learn.

Ginny squeezes her brother's shoulder as Harry empties his glass. He's going to need support, without his best friend.

"Thanks. I hum.. I thought that, since now I'm ready to go to counseling and I'll be earning more money... well we always said divorce didn't mean closing the door if we both felt like..."

"Oh my God..." the words escaped her mouth, tumbling down like rocks as a "oh shit," crosses Ginny's lips.

"Ron, what are you..This is wrong on so many levels I don't even... we're never getting back together."

It's harsh. There's disgust in her tone. She heard it. Harry winced. Ron looks like he's about to cry. "Sorry, that's not..."

What she meant? It is. A hundred percent. She's the bad guy now. The mean wrench.

Ron suddenly turns around, grabs his coat and leaves. Doesn't even slam the door, defeat in his gesture. He must be so hurt.

She looks at her friends.

"Bloody hell, Hermione. You didn't have to..."

"No," Ginny cuts in. "It's our fault Harry. He had no right to ambush her like that and assume she would come back running. We never should have let him come with us."

She grabs Hermione's hand. "I'm so sorry. He's just as immature as he's always been."

"I didn't mean to be that harsh. I feel terrible."

"You should," Harry argues, eating the sausage he doesn't know is meatless, wrapped in dough.

"Don't be a prick, Harry," Ginny counters. "You know she was right."

'Ok but we all know how sensitive he is. He's leaving in a week. I don't need him to be in his feelings for our last days together."

"You act like you're never going to see him again. He'll be an hour train away. You already bought your next three tickets."

Merlin Hermione is relieved not to have to deal with this nonsense on a daily basis. She finishes her drink, convulsively laughing now.

"Nope. Not anymore. Harry, Ron is an idiot and I forbid you to make me feel bad. Shame on you. Your fiancée is bossin' up. I'm on the brink of closing a major deal. We're running this shit and you and Ron can suck it."

Ginny's hand shoots up for an enthusiastic high five while Harry retreats to the couch, the entire plate of pita chips on his lap.

"Thank you," Ginny let out, chewing on the handful of chips she managed to snag in Harry's escape. "Finally some credit. Ugh, I'm going to need it. My competition, in the same building, is a Adrian Pucey."

"Really? I never thought he had the mental stamina to pursue anything else other than quidditch."

She saddled up on the stool next to Ginny.

"Me neither. He's some kind of social media sensation too. Hashtag Chiropractor Bea or something."

Hermione rolls her eyes. "I wish we didn't adopt every muggle fad. Social media is taking over the wizarding world even faster than it did the muggle one. You'll be fine. He might be eye candy but you are too."

Ginny glances at Harry behind her, seemingly oblivious. "I know. I already got Dean to book an appointment that he accepted to record so I can post it. Hashtag Tech genius gets his bones cracked by ex quidditch star. I haven't told Harry."

"I will definitely watch that. Better tell Harry before Ron finds out and snitches though."

"Tell me about it."

"I can tell you about how I'm now working with Draco Malfoy."

"No way!"

"He's going to spend his money to do good and he's going to hate it."

—

Hermione wakes up the next day to an early owl, repeatedly tapping on her window. She waves the window open to read the letter.

_"Are you available to meet at my place? My Vice President wants to meet and discuss your ideas further. Lunch is on us. Theodore won't be there. I'm ready to sign. Draco Malfoy."_

She looks at her calendar for the day. A meeting with a new post-secondary program offering scholarships to women studying in the magic technology field and a few hundreds emails to send to clients and fundraising teams before scheduling more meetings. She can take care of it at Malfoy's while they talk.

_"I'm available at 13:00. Please send your address and I will see you there. Hermione Granger."_

She finger detangles her hair while listening to her workout playlist and chooses her favorite casual chic outfit. If she wants to stay the team lead on that case, she'll have to look the part. Preston won't go down quietly. If she can have EnchanTech in contract before he finds out, it will be check mate for him.

Another owl.

_"Wards are impenetrable and it will take too long to create you a customized portkey. You can transplant with someone however. Pansy, my Vice President will pick you up."_

Shit. She isn't ready for her past to blow up in her face twice in less than twenty four hours.

_"On second thought, are you able to meet at the office? I just remembered I have a meeting right before."_

Another owl, rather frustrated now.

_"Granger please stop lying, I will pick you up. Is your office address ok?"_

Why does he insist on being at his place, on his terms? Power move?

Wealthy clients often don't want to travel but if he's going to come himself anyway...

Why not send an assistant?

Hermione ends her morning meeting with a few business cards and promises to follow up. She owls Malfoy to meet her there, bent on not having his number entered in her phone.

He quickly apparates behind her, wearing what must have been t

his most comfortable knitted sweater. When did he get so tall? Last time she saw him he was already sitting down.

He looks down, eyes judging her outfit. Or her body for that matter. No contempt or disgust in his eyes. No sour face.

"Hey," he says, wincing at the wind in his eyes. "Are you still ok to meet at my place? Do you need or want to bring a coworker with you? For safety concerns. Even if it might not be company policy. Thought it might make you feel safer."

Despite her better judgement, her heart skips a beat.

—-

He waits for her answer, hands in his pockets. Granger looks even better than last time, with her tight white shirt, skinny jeans and heels. Topped with a vest to hide the curves that she clearly intends to flaunt anyway. Shit. When did she become so...

"It usually is yes but I'm fine. The office knows where we're going. Why your place anyway?"

"I prefer talking business there, knowing my wards are sound proof. By the way, you know Pansy's not holding on to what happened in high school. No need to avoid her."

He remembers, a second too late that obviously it's Granger who holds grudges.

"I just rather like meeting the people who will make the decision in a more professional environment, at least the first time."

Nice save. She continues. "I also don't want to come empty handed. I'm heading towards Cafe Mundo to bring some snacks. Fine with that?"

She starts walking before he can answer, carrying on. "Why not send an assistant? I'm surprised you volunteered to get me."

He is too. He hasn't thought about it, just replied to get it over with. One might say too eager. One being Theo.

They enter the shop, falling in line.

"Well, I heard about the attacks against Muggle born wizards last week, not far from my neighborhood." A poor defense but he did hear it, he thinks, two or three weeks prior.

"Oh, I thought that was a hoax."

"Maybe but you can't be too careful."

"Sure. Thank you." She fidgets as they get closer to the register. "I'm curious though.., you thought I was safe with Parkinson?"

"Of course. Pansy is a National certified Master Duelist and a black belt in two different martial arts."

"Oh. Wow. Yes, please send her next time. And what type of security detail credentials do you possess?"

She offers him a half smile. Is she serious?

The customer in front of them finally pays, interrupting the conversation.

The register assistant offers them a toothy smile. "Hello, oh Mister Malfoy, nice to see you again. The usual? What can I get for you Miss?"

"You're a regular?" Hermione gasps under her breath before she switches to an upbeat tone. "I'd like the sample box please. Twelve pastries."

"I'm allowed to like pastries, Granger," he mumbles.

"But this is so not your style."

"Is this going to be all?" The customer service tone rises.

She catches him eyeing the inside of the box. "Am I meeting more than twelve people? Should I order more?"

"No. This is fine. Actually, let's sit before we go. You haven't eaten right?"

"Hum.. no but I'd rather not start with sweets."

"We have winter salads and bowls," the cashier interjected.

Draco needs a breather, some time to gather his thoughts. He lets Granger swipe her company credit card to pay for the box and drops galleons in the cashiers open palm for his scone and her hearty bowl. Integrating muggle technology and wizard currency is becoming smoother now. Still odd though. He likes the feel of coins, not plastic square.

They sit at a table facing the window, awkwardly aware of all the pairs of eyes on them.

She's better at ignoring it than he is. "Since when do you not eat eggs or dairy?" She asks, digging in.

"What?"

"Your scone doesn't have milk. This is a vegan bakery."

He freezes mid bite.

"How did you not know this if you come here so often? They use coconut sugars and coconut flour instead of all purpose flour and cane sugar. All their roast are fair trade too."

What the fuck is she talking about? What the hell are coconut sugars? He couldn't care less really, he only cares about the fact that he has unintentionally participated in the current madness of so-called health conscious consumption. Things Granger probably rants about all day and that he is supposed to hate and disagree with, on principle. Now she'll never let it go, let him forget. Could he forego the lemon scone for the sake of argument? Of pettiness and spite?

Not too long ago, he could have. Now this damn sugar rush is the only highlight of his day and he doesn't want to go back to days without at least one good thing.

"What did you do after it was all over. The war, I mean. Did you go back to Hogwarts?" He has to know. A sudden impulse to know more than every one of those people in this crowded bakery, to feel less like a stranger, to step into her world.

She stops mid chew. "Hum... no, I studied on my own and only went back for three days to take my NEWTs."

She doesn't say she went back home. Did her parents die in the war? How can he even ask that?

"You... stayed with your family?"

She coughs, swallows and coughs again. Not good. "What?"

"Nothing," he backpedals quickly. "Forget it. Just... everyone prefers keeping quiet about that time. Me included. I get it."

It seems like a dare to her. "I cast an obliviate on my parents. Later, I had to do it on my extended family. So I lived with Harry, we were roommates for a while."

Irreversible. She has no one but her friends.

"Sorry."

"I'm lucky. So many people lost family members. Dead," she spat the last word as if he'd killed them with his own wand.

If people are ready to forgive him, Hermione Granger will always hold him responsible. The shortness of breath takes him by surprise this time, his heartbeat accelerating, pounding in his chest.

Anxiety, panic attack. His weekly reminder of the piece of shit he will always be. His body shoots up and he hears himself mumble an excuse to go to the restroom and breathe, splashing water on his face, avoiding the mirror.

She can never understand, her, the righteous war hero, what it feels like to live on the other side of history. Fuck. This is a bad idea. Why bring her to his place? Why look for philanthropy? She isn't the answer to his problems.

She'll use him for his money like any outsider. Pansy told him. Theo warmed him. Astoria only laughed at him. Boohoo she sad. Grow up she yelled. He should send an owl to Blaise. Try again.

Outside the door, Granter is waiting for him, her sample box in her hands, looking up.

"This feels like a bad idea," she starts. "I shouldn't have pushed. You can contact Preston, spend your money however you feel is best. Keep the box."

And just like that she kicks the air right out of his lungs again.


	2. The Post-It

This chapter got longer and longer as I wrote it. In the end I had to cut it in half so chapter 3 is on its way after edits.

Also I changed the title to something more fitting.

* * *

Chapter 2: The Post-It

* * *

Hermione glances around her, jumping bodies dripping with sweat flooding her vision field through glass doors.

"Welcome, welcome! Are you Hermione Granger?"

She is tempted to lie. It's a force of habit, hanging out with Harry. But the scrunch butt leggings-high ponytail instructor doesn't seem to recognize her. The girl's checking a schedule with only one name on the 7 p.m. time slot.

Too young to recognize her anyway, Hermione thinks. Even the wizarding war is old news now.

Maybe the girl's a muggle. Hermione fumbles through her memory and the thirty bullet point list of gyms Lavender sent her. She and Ginny have been flooding the group chat with this ninety-day No Magic challenge and trying all things Muggle.

"Yes, kickboxing?"

"Right. You are the only beginner tonight. It's going to be great, don't worry." The girl flashes her a saleswoman set of teeth, as straight as her hair. "You'll get all the attention and burn no less than 800 calories."

Hermione holds back a grimace. She's not here to lose weight. Not that the trainer is implying. She suddenly remembers why she hates gym culture and starts to spin around, considering leaving altogether. The girl taps her arm in a secretive gesture.

"This is just the spiel we have to deliver. I'm not actually certain of the number. Just focus on the movements. It's entertaining, never the same and Lao tiring. You won't have time to think about anything when you get home."

Maybe she will stay after all. She needs to stop thinking about her terrible career move anyway, passing on a client like Malfoy.

"You figured me out," Hermione says nervously.

The girl smiles again, walking to the direction of the room as Hermione follows her dutifully.

"I fill up my day with everything I can find to quiet my mind. I know from experience. You look stressed. I used to look the same untilI quit my corporate job, my relationship and moved here."

She opens the door to a classroom filled with gym members greeting one another, slapping arms and thighs, joking about things Hermione's not sure she even wants to understand.

"Find a bag and just enjoy. The instructor will know you're new. We're close to all our regulars. I will tell him to go easy on you,"

"No," Hermione quickly jumps to correct her. "Hard is better, I need to go hard right now."

"That's the spirit."

She leaves, the music starts and Hermione shoves her fists into her sandbag, unsure what else to do. She watches defined biceps go up and down around the room, while her own legs tire as she kicks higher than she thought she ever could.

"Thirty seconds left before we switch set. Go go go," the instructor yells in his mic.

The voice is repetitive, not very motivating, really, but she doesn't need it. Women around her pound and turn and kick and spin, giving her confidence, stamina even.

The instructor still hasn't introduced himself to her or given her any direction. She follows the crowd, imitates, smiles to herself, laughs a little at her knuckles missing the bag and punching the air. She does it again, enjoying the impact on her shoulder. She's strong, she knows that but it's nice to be reminded.

The bell rings and she quickly moves to a lateral bag, made for high shin kicks, the instructor explains to her while interrupting himself to encourage another woman stepping under her own bag, back and forth, exhaling loudly. He's next to her now, not paying much attention to her form, his eyes sweeping the room every minute.

"Hey let me get you a partner." He springs it on her like he knows better, disregarding her protests and she vows to only attend classes with female instructors from now on.

"I'd rather not!" She yells one last time over the upbeat music just as her worst nightmare materializes in front of her. Well, maybe just a bad dream.

Someone from school, gaping at her pathetic sweatpants and oversized shirt. Worse. Someone from school she despises. Someone who voted to hand her best friend over to Voldemort. Someone certified in duel. Master level.

"Pansy," she exhales, barely hiding her horror.

"Granger..."

There it is. The ground rules have been laid out. Pansy's fist shoots out, punching the bag between them with so much force and focus it propels it right onto Hermione, the bottom hitting her groin area.

She folds in two in an oomph while her partner watches, a dry apology barely uttered from her lips.

Hermione regains composure, kicks the bag that doesn't even swing.

"Don't you dare do that again. This is my first class."

"I've noticed. You should find another gym."

"In your dreams."

Pansy throws a left cross, almost hitting Hermone in the face, stopping half an inch from her nose.

"What is wrong with you?" Hermione shouts.

"You called me a sellout," Pansy replies, moving quickly on her feet.

"Excuse me?"

"In Witch Mag, the article for the anniversary of the Victory, last week."

Shit. She's given that interview a month ago.

"You told everyone to hand my best friend to Voldemort!"

Heads swivel, quickly returning to their own bags, eyes betraying the attention shift, now on the two women's conversation.

"I was seventeen for Merlin's sake."

"That doesn't excuse anything," Hermione retorts, unforgiving.

"Seventeen and scared shitless, Granger. Not everyone can be selfless in the face of danger."

Hermione kicks the bag, silent. She knows that.

"I didn't mean to call you that or even talk about you. We were talking off the record. And the journalist still printed it I guess."

Pansy throws her body backward in a 360 turn for a reverse kick.

"Why'd you even accept? I thought you three heroes wanted to lay low? It's what the press been babbling about for the last decade."

"It paid well. Two months rent. Not everyone can inherit intergenerational wealth you know."

Pansy doesn't reply. Instead, she glares at her and juts her chin at Hermione's legs.

"You have to bend your knees when you punch."

Hermione tries it and this time, moves the bag half an inch.

She is going to be here three times a week if necessary. Except her muscles say otherwise. She goes hard that night. Doesn't talk more and leaves sore. The next day is worse. Her glutes contract at every push and pull. She can barely sit on the toilet or bend over. Each time, she remembers the physical pain is better than the mental suffering of working with Draco Malfoy.

"Someone had a good date!" Preston jokes the next morning, his eyes staring at her funny walk.

Ugh.

Her thighs are burning. Each step is a victory.

"Maybe you should stop skipping the sexual harassment webinars, huh."

"Just kidding, Hermione. Please don't report me to HR." And he laughs like doing so wouldn't change a thing.

She passes him in the corridor, biting her lip when he hails her.

"Hey, the tech millionaire called me. He wants you to vet the causes I listed for him."

"He does?"

"Yeah. He doesn't want any surprises down the road. Thinks most nonprofits are fishy, you know the type. And not to brag but if I bag this, we're both heroes... so what do you say?"

Heroes. She's tired of the word. One she can't live up to.

How refreshing would it be to be the villain. One could only go back up from there.

"I'm in. I'll work on it this week. When's your next meeting, so I can have it ready?"

"Friday. We want to move fast. You're welcome to attend. He specified that."

His face is emotionless as if trying not to comment.

"No... I'm good. Unless my presence is requested for him to close the deal."

That'd be Malfoy's style. Taking her hostage.

"No. He said it's up to you."

Oh.

"I won't be there, then."

"Suit yourself but that's dumb."

Yes it is. Her name is still going to be on the case. It's fine. She can find another marketing dream client. A superstore, trailblazing corporation or artist in trouble.

She takes a deep breath and keeps walking.

—

"Have you seen this? You're trending on social media. For eating a scone with the so-called war hero."

Yeah he has. Draco's also seen Astoria's tenth message. _Don't fucking humiliate me like this Draco._

He's heard his mom's phone call about family name dignity and acceptable behavior in the aftermath of political turns of events. Heard Astoria's howler.

_We agreed you'd wait ten months until you're seen in public with someone else, Draco. And Granger to add insult to injury_?

He's heard his dad's silence. Blaise's silence and Crabbe's subtweet. Astoria's eleventh letter.

_I don't care if you work with her. You have a fucking estate. Use it not to be photographed. As usual, so selfish of you_.

He doesn't reply to Astoria or Theo and gets up to grab his laptop, reviewing the list sent by Preston Springs.

Fucking boring is what.

**Trees are us.**

**Kangourous will thank you.**

**Ocean zero waste.**

Nothing exciting. Not one word inciting cursing or a good back and forth verbal joust. This is all dull like his life now.

You'd think after escaping both the Dark lord and Azkaban, a bland routine would be welcome.

There's something unhinged about him, clearly. Or maybe it's as simple as Blaise said. That he's avoiding his own thoughts with busy hands and cheap thrills.

Malfoy prefers expensive though. Expensive enough to spend a fortune on some fantasy redemption race to help people he doesn't give a fuck about.

That's the problem, the paradox. How can he forgive himself without changing? Maybe that's what he can't forgive.

The fact that he doesn't care. Doesn't care about how much paid sick leave werewolves should get during their transformation or how he should now avoid plantain chips because palm oil production is decimating monkeys.

And of course, he'd know that fact after one afternoon spent with Granger. He should call her and tell her that, straight to her face would be even better. She'd have a fit. That's a cheap thrill. Almost addictive how easy it is.

Something's wrong with him. He needs to rehabilitate his business' image but can't make the effort to import that into his personal life

Why doesn't he care? So fucking numb. That's what got him on the wrong side of History in the first place. Theo blamed their breeding, the way they were raised. But he's close to thirty. There's no one and nothing else to blame. He needs to get a grip. If anything, for Blaise. He's the only one who expected him to be truly different. And the only one who left when he couldn't.

That's what the fuck he needs. He needs to be challenged. By someone who won't leave.

He picks up the Muggle focused magazine he has previously agreed to fund, just to see if he can even bear that. Reads an article about the ninety-day No Magic challenge. Futile. Ridiculous. Then he thinks, it could be the first step to redeeming his image.

People would have a blast. Granger would know how to make sure of it.

So he writes her the first question that pops on his mind.

"Is it hard to make pasta without magic?" And sends his owl.

Finally turning to Theo, lounging in his living room, he deigns ask. "Is it good, what they're saying about me?"

Theodore looks at him with his teasing smirk. "You'd like that wouldn't you? It's mixed. Some say you're fishing for brownie points.. whatever that means. Others say you're probably hashing it all out on the account that it's been ten years since the war and that who cares, people can change, grow. They don't know you can't."

Theo proceeds with his carefree laugh, unaware of the pinch left on Draco's feelings.

Can't he change? Why doesn't any of his friends believe in it? He tries to think of the changes he's made. Can't really find any. Astoria asked for a divorce because he was too much of a coward to do it. He never defended his mother in front of his father's board, nor his father in front of everyone else. What was even the point? Lucius never defended Narcissa either.

The owl comes back with Hermione's response.

"Depends. Do you know what a stove is? What about a pot? A grocery store? Seasonings?"

The smile tugs at his lips. She dropped the formality, the distance. He knows it's too early for her to be drunk so she means the words on the page.

"Excuse me, I once saw the head housekeeper mix marinara sauce and pesto to my rigatoni."

He stops his hand, adjust his position and makes a decision. "I need your help. I want to try living without magic for ninety days and record it, for people to see it's genuine. Except for you, I don't know anyone raised in the muggle world. I wouldn't know where to start."

He stares at his handwriting, rolls the paper and sends it, jaw set.

That's it. This is the point of no return. Another fucking impulsive behavior.

The owl comes back within ten minutes. "Buy a self-help book. Try the adulting section."

Ouch. Theo reads behind his shoulder, an inquisitive index on his chin. "So... How good do you think she looks exactly?"

"Fucking good but that's not why I'm doing this."

"Please.. why then?"

"I don't know. Boredom. Need a change. A challenge."

"Astoria's going to resent it. Pansy's going to hate it. Your mother already summoned me to try to find out what is going on."

Great.

"Plot twist though," Theo continues. "I thought I knew but I have no idea what your end goal is here. Doesn't look like it has anything to do with EnchanTech."

—

When Hermione comes back from lunch with her soup, she finds Malfoy in her office, comfortably sitting down, in crisp shirt and pants.

Startled, she lets out a gasp, followed by profanity as her soup ends up on the floor.

He casts a cleaning charm before she has time to do it herself.

"Didn't mean to scare you. Hello."

She walks to sit at her desk, fuming, while he watches her struggle to put one leg in front of the other but doesn't comment.

"This is actually not an apology," she tells him. "You didn't say you were sorry. And you can't be here. Preston Springs is your advisor."

"I already talked to him. Told him I needed to discuss your vetting on those nonprofits. I'm sorry you wasted your lunch."

She laughs, disbelieving. "Still not an apology. What do you want? I'll have my report by Friday."

He leans forward, both hands on her desk. "I need your muggle expertise."

Her eyebrows go up an inch as she turns to file some paperwork.

"I'm not making you my cause, Malfoy. I have no interest in teaching you how to be the good guy, especially not since this is all a ploy and you don't even care."

To Hermione's disbelief, he rises to his feet and starts pacing. "I've thought about this ok? I don't care about your environmental shenanigans or workers' wages but only because I never had to. That doesn't mean I simultaneously want to litter the earth and middle class people to suffer. I just never thought about it and if I can help, I will. I just need to approach it form a different way than you do. I do care about not repeating the same mistakes though. I've almost lost my life and my freedom because of some fascist ideas. I... wasted years in an unhappy marriage because of pure blood rituals and ideologies. I lost a friend because I refused to acknowledge any of it."

Eyebrows still raised, she stares at him, unimpressed. "You could hire someone who's been raised by muggles."

"Not with that work ethic of yours. Listen, I'm not asking you to redeem me," he continues. "I'm not a sexist prick expecting you to do intellectual and emotional labor so I can feel better about myself."

Her eyes flutter, genuinely surprised that he even knows about what any of that is. "It sure sounds like it."

"I just want your help for this No Magic challenge. People seem to love it. You'll get paid. Pansy told me you need money."

She chokes on her own words. "I don't need anything from.."

"She didn't mean it like that. She just came back and told me to stop throwing my money away because even war heroes need some."

He sighs, probably realizing that his explanation doesn't land when he hopes.

"I'm just fucking desperate. I didn't want to come here. I sure don't love explaining myself to you. You're a good opponent when it comes to debating shit but this feels more like begging and you must know that's not my style."

Finally, she smiles. "The truth, at last." Her body leans back in her chair. "What did you mean by approaching it in a different way exactly?"

He sits back down, opening his sleeves to roll them up, just short of the Dark Mark showing and unbuttons the first two buttons of his shirt. "Numbers. When you tell me to stop ordering an item off a menu because it causes thousands of acres of forest destruction, just tell me how much money I can invest in businesses or nonprofits that actually work to change the situation. I want to eat the damn chips Granger. If all they have to do is change the oil they use or make it sustainable then I can focus on that."

And for the first time, Draco Malfoy leaves her speechless. He takes advantage of it. "I have the means and you have the knowledge. Why not pair up? Think of how many issues you're going to be able to pitch me while I try to do Muggle dishes. We can take your company out of the equation. You'll be free to bring up any causes. No middle man. You'll get paid what your deserve."

He gets up, and stops, hand on the doorknob.

"I know it's over a decade too late but if I ever made fun of your hair back then, I was probably trying to get approval from my friends."

He suddenly looks exhausted and spares her half a smile. "So I'm sorry for that. Not that you care but I think your hair looks great. Always thought so."

He's halfway through the door when she hails him.

"Not saying I'll do it but going to go get me lunch would definitely tip the scale..."

"You're trying to blackmail me into running your errands?"

She shrugs. "It's your fault I haven't eaten yet and a full stomach always puts me in better dispositions to make important decisions."

He slowly closes the door and sits back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What do you want me to get you?"

She crosses her legs. Maybe this arrangement could work in her favor after all.

—-

He's finally done with his board meeting, goes home and stays thirty minutes under the shower head. He hates going downtown where Granger works. The steam has well taken over the bathroom when he get outs. Still, he can discern the silhouette waiting for him at the door and almost slips on the wet floor, catching himself on the sink just in time.

"Fuck, Astoria, you almost killed me."

"Don't be your usual drama self," she snaps back, opening the door for the steam to escape. "You'd have gotten a mild concussion at most."

"Pansy can you stop inviting my ex wife over?" He yells through the magic interphone system.

Her voice floats in the room. "You haven't changed the wards so... she invited herself and who am I to tell her to leave?"

Draco ignores the sarcastic tone. Pansy is in fact known for having thrown many people out of her house before and even more out of other's people's houses, where she had absolutely no hosting rights.

Draco focuses his attention back on Astoria,

"And you're here because?"

He flicks his wand for a drying spell and leans his lower body on the counter, arms crossed.

"I knew you'd only take this advice from me so I came in person for emphasis purposes."

"We're talking again and my dick is out. Emphasis dully noted."

"Whatever you're trying to do with those nonprofits or even Granger just... don't lie. Don't lie to yourself and don't lie to her."

"For the third time, I'm not dating her."

"First off, gross. No one's talking about dating, I figured... fucking right? I get it, you know... She's different, controversial and all... been there myself."

"What?"

"Anyway. If you truly want to change, start by being honest. We're in the situation we are in because you relied on your lies so much. You fooled yourself and you fooled me and that fucking hurt. So learn to be honest with someone who doesn't matter. Ease into it."

"Who told you I wanted to change?"

"Your mom. She got it from Theo I think."

Draco flails his arms in the air in a powerless gesture. He really needs to get new wards and never invite anyone here again.

"Well thanks for your concern. Can you let me get dressed now?"

She sighs. "I'm not stopping you. And if you're going to do this challenge you need what muggles call towels, to dry yourself. Daphne read that somewhere."

He starts walking towards his closet, now curious, "Who did you sleep with that was controversial, by the way?"

She only laughs, waving his question away. "Boundaries much? And who said I'm not still doing it?"

"Ok Astoria. Bye."

He sits on his bed as she leaves in a dismissive hand gesture. Hermione's response comes the next day.

"I'll do it but know that you might be able to eat guilt free chips now however, you'll have to inconvenience yourself at some point or another."

He instantly chuckles to himself at the inevitable judgmental statement. She just can't help it and somehow there's comfort to take from it. She's reliable.

"Hey come to mine tomorrow," he writes. "I'll film a tease video to announce the start of the challenge. I'll pick you up. Still haven't taken care of the wards."

And it really should before Astoria's great aunt shows up too.

He tells Blaise first, in a howler, for good measures and informs Pansy thought the fireplace. She squints, dubitative.

"I don't think you thought this through. A ninety-day period is no small task. You know you can't have wards?"

Shit. How do muggles protect themselves? He has a fucking estate to secure, by Merlin.

"Granger will assist. We actually..."

"She probably lives in an efficiency studio. What does she know about acres and fourteen bedroom villas?"

"How poor do you think she is? She has a job. And my house doesn't have..."

"Draco! This is highly irresponsible and impulsive."

For a moment, he wonders if people with a job still can't pay for even a bedroom.

"Pansy. I'm doing this. Don't piss on my party. I already have Theo for that."

"Fine," she sighs. "But when it'll come crashing down, don't come crying."

"I'm pretty sure you're safe."

He changes outfits three times before picking up Granger, trying to look relatable. He really can't risk her changing her mind last minute now that he told Pansy.

Granger does change her mind about the location, because she's running late so she gives him her address and he waits for her outside. The neighborhood is decent. It looks like a townhouse but could there be no bedroom inside?

She shows up out of breath with a high puff of curls and two small braids on the side of her temples.

"I forgot to feed my cat, hold on." She turns on her heel and stops, probably debating if it'll be too rude to leave him here, waiting. "Ok, my cat's over thirty years old so he's gotten even more particular with time. It's going to take a few. You want to come in?"

He follows her inside, relieved to not see any bed in the living room. "Wait, your cat is how old?"

She laughs from behind the kitchen counter. "I got him as an adult and accidentally gave him a longevity potion once. Do you mind taking off your shoes?"

He obliges, depositing his loafers on the hardwood floors as Crookshanks stares a him. "Accidentally, huh?"

She looks at him, a coy smile on her lips. That piece of information makes him relax. So she is able to break the rules for personal gain. He looks around and finds it cozy. Too messy for his taste but not outwardly terrible.

She doesn't ask him to excuse the mess so the current state of her flat must be her best effort. She separates three different piles of dry and wet foods topping it with what seems to be oil from a dropper.

She finally sees him sitting on her couch and freezes. "Are you thirsty? We should drink. I mean toast. To new partnerships and all. Yes, we should do that."

She's panicking clearly so he gets up and joins her behind the counter. She looks through her cupboards and opens a vertical double door box that dispenses cold air.

"Nope. No more wine or champagne. Must have drank it all the other night." She moves to a bottom cabinet, giving him full view on her ass. He stares. "With other people I mean. Well I only have straight liquor. Rum, Tequila. Oh I have this passion fruit liqueur. It's pretty expensive. That might be your drink of choice."

She gets back up and pours them both half a glass.

"First off, rude to assume this is what I want. Two. You drink straight liquor?"

"Why wouldn't I drink straight liquor? Do you want tequila or rum then?"

"No, this is fine. I didn't think you drank alcohol at all."

"Well it's been established that you've always had the wrong image of me." She takes a long sip, detailing his outfit, his face, his hair. "I'm just trying to figure out how I'm going to explain this to Harry, Ginny... anyone really."

"Don't. Let them come to you after the fact and remain vague, like they're the ones overreacting. Works for me."

She chuckles and drinks more.

"Seriously," he continues. "You survived a war. You can survive your judgy little friends."

"That's the thing, isn't it? Mundane tasks are sometimes so much more difficult to overcome."

She sure is right about that. He swallows another sip of the smooth liqueur. He really needs to ask her what the brand is. Then he says something completely asinine.

"How can I make it easier on you?"

She looks ups and starts coughing, choking on her sip. Running to the sink, he hears her snort more through the water and regrets everything. Fuck. She comes back with a hiccup.

"I... haven't thought about that. It's probably the only thing I haven't considered."

"So surreal, I know."

She inhales and smacks her empty glass on the counter. "Look at us, we've already learned so much about each other. I drink and you joke about yourself. This might just not traumatize us after all. Let's go."

He watches her flock her wand at the lock.

"You use wards?"

"I know I have a fridge but I'm still a witch Malfoy."

He doesn't ask what a fridge is because his walk's wobbly and he starts to feels dizzy.

"Don't tell me you!re tipsy already? Are you a lightweight?" She's one second from making fun of him, mouth open, eyes bulging.

"I'm not a lightweight. How much alcohol was in that drink?"

"A lot," she admits in his defense. "It's made with rum from my parents' birthplace. Caribbean. They don't joke around. Over fifty percent alcohol with straight up sugar."

"Thank for warning me."

"Sorry. Can you still take us?"

She grabs his arm to steady him and looks at him with concern, her brown eyes so warm. A flash blasts through his mind. Her, with those same eyes, that same concern for him, on her knees in his bed, black bra and panties on.

He shrugs off the thought and vanishes them to his house.

When they arrive, Malfoy's entire clique is here, along with a camera crew. Pansy's dressed like a royal, save for her bare legs and high heels. She's sitting on the armrest of the sofa, her sleek dark hair perfectly aligned at her jaw, as usual. Casual.

Theodore is talking to the camera crew, giving orders as Daphne Greengrass is alarmingly walking to them, zeroing in on Granger. "Bloody hell. Hermione Granger. Ten years. This is like a Hogwarts reunion."

Draco approaches in three lunges, an apologetic frown on his face to Hermione. "The camera crew wasn't my idea. I was thinking more casual. Homemade video."

Pansy lets a scoff escape and Hermione looks at her with suspicion, like there's some muggle pop culture references he's not getting. He makes a mental note to look into it later.

"You're all dressed for a formal or a family Christmas picture," Hermione whispers. "I don't think that's the look you want. And isn't this about you? Are they're going to be in the video?"

She probably can't imagine Pansy and Theodore being relatable to anyone. Wizards or muggles. It's going to be hard enough to make him pass for some reborn wizard.

In the same breath, she grabs his arm in realization "You need new clothes, casual ones. I'd have to help you choose, even shop..." She gazes in the distance, biting the plump of her bottom lip. "Grocery shopping, we'll have to do that too..."

He wants to both laugh and tell her to calm down because she looks like she's toppling over an entirely different state of mind.

"Can I speak to you in private?" She says instead, grave.

He guides her to his study. A stuffy room with dark wood furniture and some obscure rug pattern, his mom ordered.

"I'm starting to realize that this... your idea.. is going to be much more than I thought. I need higher compensation. For my expertise."

"Of course. Though we haven't even discussed the amount."

"I know. But your friends look like they're not going anywhere. It's going to cost you."

"Ok."

"I mean, new clothes, cooking ingredients, trips to stores, transportation."

"I get it Granger. Entire overhaul. I'll pay you more than what you make at Chess West."

She works hard to keep a straight face at that.

"Wait... If I'm an official independent contractor, we need a sturdy contract. We can't start before it's signed."

He passes his palm over his forehead, his nose bridge and his lips. "You want me to tell my friends they dressed up for nothing and that this isn't happening tonight?"

"Isn't it how they always dress?"

She's only half kidding. He doesn't respond.

"No contract, no work," she decides. "You're the one with the fortune, the lawyers and the hiring experience. I'm at a disadvantage here so I need to protect myself. You understand right?"

Of course he understands.

"I'll message my legal team."

He suddenly feels down. Like unfinished business. "Are you leaving then?"

She stares at him for what seems a good minute. "I'm taking a leap of faith here Malfoy. Blame it on the alcohol. I don't have to leave. I can call some friends and we can film your teaser. Gryffindor friends for clout purposes. I trust you won't screw me over before we sign the papers."

He's never wanted to not disappoint someone like that in his entire life. He grabs a post-it from the desk next to them and scribbles on it. She reads it out loud.

"Draco Malfoy to give Hermione Granger everything she asks for." She looks up, now seeming like she's downed three more glasses. "Shouldn't you put some limits to this statement? Talk about the challenge, my position as a consultant?"

"I could." He's not stupid. He should. "But you're not going to bleed me dry are you? Not with those morals of yours, I know that much."

"Malfoy... I can't do th..."

"Make it official Granger." The alcohol is so strong and he doesn't want her to leave yet.

She points her wand to it. "Tradens signavit edictum," her voice whispers.

A copy of it appears next to it.

He picks it up to fold it before sliding it in his shirt's pocket, a hazy smile floating in his lips. He feels so free now. He takes one step towards her, knowing exactly where her only pockets are. Ass pockets.

He holds the paper in between two fingers for her to grab but she doesn't move, instead staring at him. With delicious deliberation, he leisurely extends his arm to her jeans, brushing her hips on the way and slides two fingers in her left back pocket, depositing the sticky note.


	3. The Cooking Competition

Ex-Slytherins and former Gryffindors compete in Draco's kitchen. Banter ensue.

This chapter is filled with banter, competitiveness, flour and shouting. It's merry.

* * *

Chapter 3: The Cooking Competition

* * *

Hermione's not too sure what's just happened. She let Malfoy tuck a note in her back pocket. That's the official version. The real one is that she silently invited him to do so. And he did.  
More importantly, he basically wrote her the equivalent of a blank check. She could do anything - everything - with that post-it. But she wouldn't of course. This was clearly an offering of his trust. Did she take advantage of him? She served him alcohol then conveniently let him write his rights away. What a mess. Now she has to go back to the living room, with the feeling of a hole burning in her ass pocket. She has to texts her friends and convince them to come to Malfoy's estate while the host himself is tweaking the wards.

Think. Think. Think.

"_Need your help with something. Meet me at Malfoy's manor. Bring + 1s. Will explain later."_

Lavender replies right away. "_Tell me this is a prank._"

"_No. Trust me, it's for a good cause. Literally._"

No more responses. She tucks her phone in her pocket, bracing herself to face the others. She comes face-to-face with none other than Blaise Zabini who casts her a once-over.

Zabini looks good, she notices. Hot, actually. They all look God-damningly beautiful. Is it money that makes them resemble a carefully chosen TV cast? The clothes?The hairstyle or simply this background? Obnoxious filthy rich background. If she looks at them in the tiny space of her modest flat, will they shrink to regular mortals?

They're looking at her, Blaise and Pansy, with that air of saying hell no we won't, mudblood. But they don't utter a word. In fact, Blaise offers her a champagne flute. His sleeves are up and there's no trace of the dark mark. He catches her looking, nods and she takes the glass from his hand, though she has no intention to ingest any more alcohol. Malfoy catches her looking too and he reflexively turns around, making sure his sleeve is down. But they all know what's underneath. Pansy downs her drink and sighs, visibly frustrated at Draco and the entire situation.

"_Where are you?_" Hermione sends to the group chat.

Ginny responds first.  
"_No one wants to arrive first so we're all waiting for one another._"

"_I'm literally already here. Hurry!_"

"_We have to take a ride share. Day 35 of the challenge, remember? We can't just pop in. And that shit is bonkers so excuse me but..._"

Hermione doesn't wait for the second message.

"_First to get through the door and I talk Malfoy into financing whatever they need._"

"_We'll be there in ten._"

Hermione slips her fingers in her pockets, turning on her heel towards the others. She glances in Draco's direction for... For what exactly? Comfort? Ridiculous.

"So what are you doing for the Victory anniversary this weekend?" Daphne begins, clearly the only one willing to make small talk.

"I... hum.. not sure."

Hermione doesn't like to celebrate like everyone else, because to her it's a death anniversary. So she usually hangs out with Harry, Ginny and Ron at the Weasley's house with the rest of the siblings. Molly and Arthur cry. Angelina and George stay late. Charlie leaves early. Bill and Fleur usually are too busy intervening in their kids' fight to really take part in any conversation.

Now she might just stay home. No one wants to have the ex-wife over at a celebration already loaded with sadness.

"It's not really a happy day for me," she explains, holding back her words.

"Well at least you ditched Weasley," Daphne remarks as everyone glares at her to stop talking. "Can't be that sad this year."

"We just drink and dance. Preferably on some type of rooftop," Pansy intervenes, not making eye contact with Hermione.

"Well... Daphne's right actually. This might be the most fun anniversary thus far, even if I spend it in my own flat. At least it'll be clean and drama free."

"Praise Merlin," Dean Thomas lets out, walking through the front doors, a bottle in his hands as Draco meets him for a fist pound. "Never could picture the whole thing, to be honest."

He explains how he enhanced his car with tech magic and both him and Draco gloat about their genius skills before Blaise and Theo methodically take apart and break each of their talking point.

First she thinks Dean is entertaining the hosts all by himself and although he's obviously done business with Malfoy before, it's no reason to punish him that way, until she realizes, he's comfortable. He's the life of the party. And they like him. A Gryffindor. Muggle born.

Lavender and Ginny finally show up, accompanied by Seamus and Parvati.

Hermione rushes to her friends, a feeling of relief expanding through her chest. "What is Parvati doing here?"

"What are we doing here? In freaking Malfoy manor?"

"I will explain, I promise. And this is technically not Malfoy manor."

Lavender consents to give a explanation first, waving from afar at Draco in an overexaggerated amiable gesture.

"Well Seamus kept bugging Dean to come, under the pretense of a decade-long friendship or whatever. And Seamus also happens to want to seal the deal with Parvati, thinking tonight would be the perfect opportunity."

"Not gonna happen..." Ginny lets out, ominous.

They all turn to the direction of her gaze and watch, in slow motion it seems, Blaise Zabini ruthlessly leaning forward on the wet bar counter, next to Patil.

"She's not going to go for an ex Slytherin... come on. Seamus or not."

"Lavender, you are so naive."

"And you, Ginny, should know that word has never been used to describe me."

"I highly doubt that."

They keep bickering as Daphne and Draco finally team-up to offer drinks behind the bar.

"Don't you have a private mixologist?" Ginny remarks, pointing at the open space. "Floating trays of canapés or whatever?"

They camp on one of the couches in the living room and Hermione knows it, it's time to explain the entire thing.

One look at Draco and he gulps down his firewhiskey, "I'm starting the ninety day No Magic challenge. Hermione is helping me with... Muggle culture."

They all fall silent before Pansy flicks her wand to make the drinks float to their respective guests. "It's like this," she says pointedly. "Draco has money he wants to donate to some good causes to mend his business' image. Grang- Hermione, here, happens to work for a philanthropic company. Well let's be real, she's always been defending a cause."

Nods and low acquiescing exclamations make Hermione grunt a little but she doesn't interrupt.

"They both think - and I know how it sounds but bear with me, they both think the challenge will bring publicity to both Draco's company and the causes he is going to support. A win-win."

Actually, this is a great summary. The most likely to be accepted by everyone. They all argue still. Bring up Hogwarts, The battle. The insults. It turns into a Gryffindor against Slytherin, memory match, which springs an idea into Hermione's mind and she has to blurt it out.  
"We should make it a cooking competition."

Draco's the first to look up at her, from genuinely laughing at whatever meme Dean just pulled up to show them. Even Pansy hides a scoff behind her palm.

"Excuse me?" Pansy says.

"Since.. there's a bunch of us here. Marketing wise, it would make for a good buzz. Ex Slytherins versus former Gryffindors... Or each of us tries to race to cook something simple... Who knows, magic raised might win over muggle born."

Heads slowly nod, recognizing the potential. The idea of going viral is now a real incentive to wizards getting dragged into the storm of social media's easier fame.

Parvati carries on. "We could release it out of context. All of us together in one kitchen. People will talk, wonder."

"I feel like we are moving away from the end goal here, which is Draco's image," Theodore reminds everyone.

"I don't think those two things are mutually exclusive though," Hermione argues. "We could even do some product placement while we're at it... for the causes we discussed?"

Before Draco can reply, Pansy jumps in. "You're PR also?"

"You can leave also. No one's forcing you to participate. You're not essential to this," Lavender backfires, protective.

In one second, the mood sours and they turn to Malfoy

His house, his image, his camera crew. She knows he'll say yes. Because for some reason, he wants to prove something to her. She's not sure what yet. Not sure how he plans on doing it or how she'll know if he ever succeeds. She can't say she doesn't like it, having some influence over Malfoy. It's new. Thrilling.

"Let's do it. I'm in. We'll each cook pasta in the help's kitchen. It's a professional one. They'll be a station for everyone."

Parvati claps of excitement as Ginny jumps to her feet, competitiveness fueling her movements.

"I can make pasta and a sauce before Seamus boils water, just saying..." Dean prides himself to Lavender, as she openly laughs.

"And I can eat them," Theo adds, joyful, striding.

Pansy and Daphne walk slowly, eying Seamus, trying to fill his glass one last time as Draco picks up Hermione's pace.

"You owe me."

"Excuse me?" Her tone is already high, ready to fight.

"For when I get rid of Finnegan for you and your friends."

She rolls her eyes. "Seamus is part of the group. We don't want to get rid of him."

"Come on. He's the third wheel. At his pace, he'll be throwing up in the oven before dinner."

He's smiling, hands in his pockets, casually jutting the others with his chin and she can't deny it. Seamus isn't truly her friend. But that's no reason to exclude him further.

"You'd add value to our publicity stunt by helping him out, actually. Especially considering everyone else is being a jerk to him."

"Don't you get tired of playing the good one sometimes? Explaining basic common decency? Obviously I'm familiar with the concept. We all are and we choose to ignore it for a reason."

"What's that?"

"Fun. When's the last time you did something not so good, Granger?"

She feels the anger bubble. "Bad isn't fun to me."

"What is then?"

She has an answer. One he'll deem boring. Reading books, going on walks, reading articles, listening to her favorite podcasts.

"Do you need a quill to write down your ideas and maybe test them out?"

That smirk again. She could kick him.

"Lately, kickboxing. The prospect of pissing off Preston Springs. And watching you eat either uncooked or burnt pasta, this evening."

He gives her an unfamiliar look. Half-interested half-frightened.

"Kickboxing? I don't think you need to hone your punching skills any further."

She works hard not to stop mid-stride. So he remembers when she hit him back in third year. And he can joke about it. Some self-derision. Voldemort really did a number on him.

What else has changed? Or is it his actual personality? The one Pansy, Blaise and Daphne are used to, casually living next to the pile of arrogance and jerkiness?

"The world of work is a tough place. There are bigger arses than third year-Draco Malfoy."

"Yes, try fifth, sixth and seventh year Draco..." Blaise hails from afar as Theo yells that he seconds that.

Malfoy only smiles, head down, a strand of blond hair lost on his eyelid. "I can help you drive Preston Springs crazy. I speak his language."

Jerk language.

"I think I'm good in that department actually, but I appreciate the offer."

—-

They arrive in the kitchen, a massive room with a dozen ovens and no stoves. He looked up a few key words before tonight to avoid being so lost that he'll make a total fool of himself. He almost regrets never setting foot in this space. At least he would have some context.

Everyone picks a spot around the giant stainless steel table, Seamus getting that one spot at the end, that no one wants, far away from everybody.

"History lesson, real quick," Dean addresses everyone and Draco hides how attentively he's listening, surprised to not find Hermione in this very role but she's oddly quiet. "Wizards don't use stoves because they heat up everything with wands but they do use ovens due to the difference in taste. Only wealthy wizards had access to ovens back in the day. And it's with no surprise to find out out that Draco, here, has twelve."

They laugh and comment on the useless nature of owning more than one oven, with Parvati and Daphne arguing the opposite.

He watches Hermione, knowing it's still in her back pocket, his foolish promise to her. He fucking tethered himself to her. That note's an anchor.

His mother would call it old magic, pure blood ritual almost. Something you don't do. A thing he swore never to do again after Astoria.

The buzz has faded and he still doesn't regret it. He waits for the dread, the panic but nothing comes but calmness, stillness.

"We can't make pasta without stoves," Seamus remarks.

"Let's make lasagna instead."

"Really Patil? Lasagna?" Theo jumps in, outraged. "Why not make some bloody double crust lemon meringue pie while you're at it!"

She doesn't care, Draco notices, because she's too busy smiling at Blaise's hand stroking her forearm. The camera crew is zooming in on them too. He wants to talk to Blaise. Really he's floored his friend even showed up, invited by Pansy. But Blaise looks like he's willing to speak to everyone but him.

"Wait, Nott's not wrong, Baking might be our best bet right now," he hears himself contribute.

"You don't even know what baking is," Pansy whispers next to him and he just laughs because although he has a vague idea, he really doesn't.

So they break into their old house's team and Hermione floats some flour, sugar, baking powder and eggs on the table. He knows she won't eat any of it but she doesn't say a thing about her convictions. She certainly won't find any substituions in this house.

She flicks her wand and bowls deposit themselves in front of them, along with measuring cups and spoons. They wash their hands and before anyone can ask further directions, they hear it.

"On my mark," Hermione starts before anyone is prepared. "You will follow my instructions. First one to finish has won. We're competing for first, second and third place." She brings her wand to her lips to whistle. "Podium better be Red and Gold! Break three eggs." She add very fast before blowing.

Draco glances at Thomas and Finnegan and tries to copy their assured moves. He ends up cracking his first egg on the corner of the table, the white leaking all over his shoes.

"Ew, Draco! Move that away from me," Pansy snaps as her yolk slips and slides all the way to the other side of the table for Lavender to grab with a winning face.

"Three-hundred grams of flour in the bowl," Hermione commands.

"We don't even know what we're making. You'll learn, Granger that I don't appreciate being led blindly."

She retorts back without skipping a beat."I hear that's not what you said to Voldemort, Theodore."

"Burn, Theo!" Blaise mocks. "Don't you know not to start with the war heroes. They beat Umbridge at her own game, remember?"

Draco is dumping his flour all at once, creating lumps he doesn't know how to get rid of and he's pretty sure the Weasley girl is laughing at him.

"No, I don't remember," Theo comes back and Draco hears the pout in his tone. "Pretty much blocked everything that happened in that cursed castle."

"Wouldn't be cursed if you snakes didn't dedicate seven years to bully everybody else in it," Lavender spits to no one in particular.

"Well couldn't you see it before it happened, in your tea leaves?" Pansy retorts. "Do you see what I'm going to do to you if you don't shut up? Look closer in the flour."

Oh shit. Pansy stopped what she's doing and she's locking eyes with Brown.

"Whisk briskly with one hundred and fifty grams of sugar." Hermione's voice booms, magically amplified now.

She looks at him, a bit worried. They both know their friends and chaos is near.

"I'm done!" Dean shouts to diffuse the tension.

"Again, you don't even know what we're doing. How can you be done?" Seamus notices.

"Please. I'm no amateur in the kitchen. We're making a basic vanilla cake. Don't test me."

He slides his dough, already lined up in a pan, in the oven and starts the temperature.

"That's cheating!" Daphne yells as Draco rushes to trying to remember what steps Thomas took.

He's really bad at this and he doesn't understand why there are so many fucking steps to make something that doesn't even have properties like liquid luck or instant truth. Frustrated, he blurts his thoughts out loud and they all pretty much agree. Even Thomas after thinking about it for a minute.

"Just look at it like art. It serves no other purposes but its own existence," he finally explains.

Hermione joins in. "Or, you know, it also happens to feed you. Minor detail..."

Her sarcasm in a tad less infuriating when she has flour all over her shirt. It's probably his fault when he dumped it all at once because she's standing not too far from him. She doesn't seem to care either.

"I'm done!" Finnegan yells, soon followed by Pansy.

"What the fuck Pans'?" Draco yells louder than he intended to. "How?"

"I'm a quick study."

She runs to the oven and glances at the temperature on Dean's oven.

"We have our winners," Granger shouts, joyful. "Two Gryffindors and one Slytherin. The rest of you suck!"

She's enjoying this way too much. And because he hates losing, he has to at least try to cheat.

"Whoever helps me finish this will get me to invest in whatever they like."

"Get out of my way, peasants!" He hears Lavender threatens as she and Ginny fight to get to him. Weasley wins and flashes him a bright smile. "I have a chiropractic business and I need one of your former Hogwarts teammates gone. This is personal. You better follow my instructions Malfoy."

"You've never used a fucking knife in your life, Weasley. Your family tree doesn't have one Muggle in it."

"My dad has a passion for it, as your certainly know. Now, get to work."

She gets him to start over, while others also bargain help from their rivals and soon, the kitchen is filled with shouting and running.

"You need to sift the flour, Malfoy. Let's just throw this away. No one's eating this shit."

He grunts but doesn't complain. He really hopes whoever she's referring to isn't anyone he remembers. He doesn't really want to make one more enemy of a former Slytherin.

"Really Malfoy, you've never broken an egg in your life?" I can't do this." Weasley flails her arms in the air, lunging away and barbering with everyone to trade partners. He ends up with Dean, who's surpassingly good at teaching on top of being some type of amateur chef.

"There's a technique to chopping, you know. To safeguard your fingers, Use your knuckles, Also happens to be an alternative cooking method for people who are blind or visually impaired."

"Ugh, Thomas, tone down the fucking politically correct talk," Pansy complains, but she follows the technique and smiles to herself at how fast she can cut now.

Hermione and Theo are two seconds away from ripping each other's throats when she tries to make his dough vegan.

"No eggs? We'll see about that." And he smashes the entire shell in his fist, letting all the pieces fall in the bowl that's already filled with flour, sugar.

She stops it with her wand as everyone else let out one long exclamation. "I'm not doing the challenge, I'm allowed to use my wand," she defends herself.

In the end, Draco's cake never rises but he can't complain about the flavor. Pansy's cake is eaten within minutes, along with Dean's.

Blaise and Parvati are licking - sucking - each other's fingers under the pretense of eating raw dough and it's only disgusting because he's not doing it with Hermione.

She'd never do that in front of everyone. He'd never do that in front of anyone. They're not the type. Or is she? He's not but he could be convinced. He bets she's read tons of articles on how to suck and it's been all wasted of Ron fucking Weasley.

Seamus is eating his sorrow under Daphne's disgusted eye.

Draco forces himself to get out of his thoughts. He's not sure what's happening to him and why he's fantasizing about Granger so fast and so hard. This is not good, he concludes. He has no rational explanation for it, which makes it even worse.

He needs a drink to stay in that sweet spot worry free. They move back to the living room. He starts some background music and hangs out behind the bar, keeping to himself or else he might do something dumb. Again.

—-

"Doesn't it bother you though," Lavender starts. "That Malfoy made fun of your natural hair?"

They sat on the couch, all a little tired from yelling during the cooking competition, and a little unwinded from the alcohol. She confesses things she should never have.

"Well... my hair was a mess in middle school. Didn't know the first thing about how to take care of it properly without braiding it until Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet showed me how."

"Didn't your mom taught you how?"

Hermione sighs. "She did but I was more concerned with doing homework than the way I looked. I could never be bothered... you know until I was away in boarding school, in close proximity with boys and girls commenting on my appearance. I developed some self-awareness."

"If I had known Draco did that, I would have punched him for you, rival house or not," Blaise says, legs spread out, sitting on an armchair, Parvati on his lap.

She feels all warm and comforted by his statement. This is not so bad after all. Being in Malfoy's space, with his friends. She wonders what their teenage years were like, what their Hogwarts day to day lives have been.

Ginny and Daphne start dancing, drinks in their hands while Lavender is consoling Seamus on the other side of the couch, whispering soothing platitudes and probably doing a really bad job.

Pansy, Dean and Theo are entranced into a heated conversation about new education laws. Hermione makes a decision and starts typing on her phone.

There's a yearning in her chest. To be bad. Yes, she has broken many rules throughout her academic career at Hogwarts but she has done so reluctantly and for the greater good. Her teenage years had been robbed from her. Her adult years a blur of grief, trying to heal and be responsible all at once. Now, she can almost touch it with her fingers, that.. that thing that's only for her own sake. For fun. For ego.

"_How would you do it? Drive Preston Springs crazy, I mean._"

She's crossed the line. There's absolutely nothing professional about her text and it's a written proof of how unethical she's being. This is the point of no return. The one where all explanations to her friends go out the window. She looks up at him and he's smiling at his phone behind the bar.

"_I'd join his private club and beat him at golf. Steal his clients one by one. Disable his keyboard one key at a time._"

She laughs to herself. He replied right away and she realizes how much attention she's craving. He's the wrong person, clearly but she wants to know the reason behind his willingness to entertain her. It has to be more than absolution. A part of her really hopes it's not just that.

"_What about you? You said you were set in that department, I assume you've already started messing with his mind._"

Double texts. He doesn't know the rules. Would he care if he did?

"_I mispronounce his name. Put the emphasis on the wrong syllable and slurp my tea every time I pass his door. One time he made fun of a coworker who happens to put hearts on her i's, which I find horrible too but on principle, I add hearts on every I's I can if we share files._"

"_Granger, you're bad. Baby bad though. Junior level. I can teach you_."

Teach her. The nerve. "_Teach me? The nerve. I can teach myself thank you. And who says I want to learn?_"

"_You. For seven years. That's your thing, no matter the subject, isn't it?_"

"_I don't need to learn how to be bad. You need to learn to do better though._"

She's getting frustrated, this is a mistake. She's told him once already. She slaps her phone on her thigh and looks at him. He points at her phone as it chimes.

"_Well we're talking about wants, not needs._"

Curt much. She inhales and types as fast as she can, sending it before she has the chance to change her mind.

"_Why do you want me to help you Malfoy? Why me? Are you trying to make up for when we were teens?_"

But before he can reply, Seamus gets up, announcing he's leaving.

"Why?" Blaise asks and there's the beginning of a smirk on his lips.

He knows exactly why. Seamus is about to lose it, she can tell. Dean rises to his feet, to the rescue, because he saw it too.

"Yeah, it's getting late and some of us only have one day a week to recuperate from work. I can drive anyone who needs it."

Parvati gets up, and follows the crowd of former Gryffindors leaving, helping Ginny who stumbles a lot.

Draco thanks them, he tries to talk to Hermione but she rushes her stride, hiding in front of Dean's height as she passes the door.

She apparates back home, takes a shower, puts on her most comfortable night clothes and slips in her bed, sighing. What a crazy night. Something tells her to check her phone and she sees the message Draco sent before they all left.

"_No. As if how I could ever make up for that or anything else_."

The ellipsis makes her nervous. She's used to Malfoy's mean bluntness, not his introspective one.

"_I figured if someone could be stubborn enough to take a seemingly lost cause, battle her way through and make it a win, it'd be you._"

She picks up where they left off, because she's suddenly not as tired as she thought and she has the urge to know. "_Come on Malfoy. Don't try to sell me, be honest._"

There's a moment when neither of them is writing.

"_Can I call you?_" His texts asks out of the blue.

She shoots upright, heartbeat racing. Shit. She's not ready. She hasn't even considered that option. If she says no, what happens?

Back to normal, probably. Back to the status quo. She doesn't want that. What does she want?

"Yes."

The phone rings after thirty seconds. "Hey?" she says, feeling redundant.

"Theo doesn't think I can change. Pretty sure he doesn't want me to."

His voice cuts into the awkward silence without hesitation. "Pansy wants me to make strategic moves of every outing. She's right but also exhausting. Blaise is fed up. He's given up on me, and I gave him good reasons to. They all have expectations I can't meet right now. You don't know this but feeling like a failure all the time is a real downer."

She stays silent. He's not done and she wants to know more.

"Your parents are muggles. Potter is your friend. The Weasleys a second family. If I want to truly change, someone as opposite as you should be my start. You analyzed my situation in five minutes and found me a solution. Pansy did that too but... she doesn't want anything from me. You do."

"What? I want nothing to..."

"I meant that I like it. I like that you want something from me as much as I want something from you. I just don't know what it is you want." He chuckles. A sad soft laugh. "I'm useless to my dad, my friends. There's pride in being useful to a war hero."

"Are you drunk? High? Did you take a potion? Why are you spilling your feelings. How?"

"I made pesto after you left, following Dean's recipe that he left for me. It tastes so fucking good. Does that count?"

"No. Tell the truth."

"I'm doing it because I have a feeling that's what you want to hear? My feelings. It's what might prevent you from leaving or changing your mind. Honesty deposited at your feet to pick up or stomp on.."

He's smart, she notices for the first time.

"Is that it? You want me to want something from you?" She repeats.

"More specifically, I want you to want me."

Her breath becomes shallow. Too much truth. Too soon.

"Are you still there?"

She considers hanging up at that point. "Yes... What if, I don't want you. What if I want something else."

"...What is it? What do you want Granger?"  
His voice is soft and low, like he's waiting for her deepest secret.

She plunges. "Attention. Exclusivity. I want to feel special. Not like the type of girl who marries her friend even though she's not in love. Not like the type of employee who gets paid below her education and brains or gets reminded she has to clock in as if it's not demeaning enough to have to entertain Preston's ideas. Not like the witch who lost her parents and family but also didn't bury them and no one can relate. More like the type of woman who calls you a shit, tells your friend to get out and you back her up,"

She feels him smile when he answers.

"I can be that for you. I can keep being that." He sounds confident. Arrogant even, that he can embody what she craves.

She swallows and listens to him breathe into the phone.

"I can make you feel special, Granger."

She feels like crying for what she's about to say. "I'm not sure I can make you feel wanted. I don't really..."

"Need anyone? I know. Again. I said want, not need. You wanted me to respond to your text right? You wanted me to call after I asked, correct?"

"Yes."

"Are you actively considering coming back to mine for silly cooking, shopping, technology demonstrations and whatever else pleases the audience we're trying to reach?"

"Maybe but I don't know for how long."

"If I know anything, Granger, it's that as long as I make you feel special, you'll want to come back."

"Don't patronize me."

"You know I'm not. Simply stating a fact. I married and divorced Astoria and have Pansy as a friend, believe me, I learned never to do that."

She spares him a laugh. Tonight's not the right night to ask about Astoria. Or maybe it is but she's suddenly too tired to dive into it.

"I can't decide if this whole agreement sounds so wrong it's right, or the other way around."

"The first one for sure."

"I'm working tomorrow, I have to go."

"Okay. Sweet dreams, Granger."

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

—

He's out there, waiting for her with a coffee. He's not sure why, not sure if the previous night's conversation's a dream or not. It doesn't fully make sense. Or it makes too much of it. He can't decide and his mind goes from one to the other every five minutes. He managed the guts to tell Blaise the morning after the cooking competition, as a peace offering. A fast track into one of his most shameful secrets... Hanging out with Hermione Granger.

"Don't tell Theo," was Blaise first instinctive reply. "Don't tell Astoria but you already know that. Matter of fact, don't tell anyone."

"Yeah, thanks."

"Are you ready for the backlash? The pictures?"

Blaise didn't ask why or how or what the hell. Draco shrugged. He didn't care. Like Hermione pointed out. They'll eventually side with him.

"Are you?"

Blaise slowly looked up from his breakfast. "You think I'm going to date Parvati?

"Aren't you trying to?"

"No. And she's not a war hero. Not in people's minds at least. And I'm not a former Death Eater or even related to one. The press isn't exactly following me around."

He's lying, Draco thought then. Blaise doesn't screw around. He doesn't do anything casually actually.

Hermione walks out of the Chess West building. She smiles when she sees him. A faint one, like she feels guilty for it.

"Preston said Theo joined his golf club. He didn't like that much."

"Theo is bored and ready to take on any mission. Coffee?"

"No. I only drink decaffeinated tea."

Of course she does.

"Oh. I only have water then," he says pulling a bottle out of his pocket and she wonders as how deep it is, branching into the politics of women's pocket size.

He listens to her, half-amazed, half-annoyed at how she cut him off without even noticing it. "I thought of something," he finally inserts when she pauses to drink. "Ninety days. We can do this for ninety days."

"Like the No Magic challenge?"

"You'll get over Weasley treating you like his sixth grade pal and I'll feel worthy enough to show my face in public more than once a trimester."

She fidgets with her bottle of water, the wind blowing her curls all over her cheeks.

"Ninety days, Granger. The ultimate challenge. I can bring you into my world. Make you feel like no one else could."

"No need to be that cocky. I'm not interested in the phony world of the wealthy if that's what you're offering."

He stares at her with a serious face now, because, in her mouth, that very much sounds like an insult.

"I've figured that, Granger. I meant, a world where you can as be as confident and unapologetic as you want. Not one when you need to fake an entire personality to keep your sainthood status next to Potter's side and mama Weasley."

"I'm not faking anything."

"But don't you wish you had a choice in trying new things without disappointing them? Like traveling the world in luxury to meet with women you admire? I saw your face when Pansy described what she does for her radio network."

He isn't wrong, he can tell by how she gets quiet. She thinks traveling every week is a waste of resources and would never.

People would call her a hypocrite if she tried.

"I laid it out for you," he continues. "I've been honest. You've given me half a truth."

"No you haven't. You don't care about PR or that company. If it crashes you'll just start another one. Sit on your sacred twenty-eight fortune. And I don't believe your "I need you to want me" stunt. I'm not stupid."

It hurts, sharing the truth with the only person who could ever accept it and discover she thinks so little of him. Even she does't believe it. He sighs, giving her something she can get behind. Not the truth but not a lie either.

"Fine, You're my ticket back to Blaise's friendship. He thinks I'm an ass. Hanging out with you gives me a better image. He'll think I'm trying. And I am. I mean, clearly I'm willing to take your whimsical tea orders to the letter, am I not?"

She nods slowly. Reserving her final judgement and it hurts again. "So... any idea of what we should do next? I made a list but, if you've thought of anything, I can add it."

Of course she has a list. She always comes prepared.

"I do but now I'm curious. What's on your yours?"

"Grocery shopping."


	4. The Rooftop Bar

Chapter 4: The Rooftop Bar

* * *

"I'm not going to stop eating meat, Granger, no matter how many gruesome articles and videos you send me."

She puts a hand on her hip, resolute. "I won't teach you how to cook it either."

She got him there. And she looks so smug, self-satisfied, that he can't even be mad. She wins fair and square. But because he's still a sore loser - he can admit that about himself now, thanks to Theo regularly pointing it out throughout their childhood - he dares her.

"If I have to give up something that important. You can show grace and do the same. Give up sleep for the challenge."

"Excuse me?' She winces, leaning back.

"Wake up at five in the morning every day and go for a run with me."

"No, Malfoy. That, is never going to happen."

She spins around and starts walking towards the register as he follows with the cart, passing an aisle of cleaning products somehow all promising stainless, beaming all white surfaces.

"You only have to go to bed earlier. You'll be well rested, I promise."

She turns and put her hand on the cart. "I'm aware of how time works and that, Malfoy does not make me feel special at all.."

"It should," he replies without skipping a beat. "I value my morning runs. It's quiet, relaxing. I've never invited anyone to share that with me."

She locks eyes with him, clearly judging if he's lying. She's a bullshit detector, which is why Theo and her can't stand one another. Also why he thinks, if they could get past eighteen years of rivalry, she could become Pansy's friend.

Really, he wants to speed up the experiment. People tend to crack under the kind of pressure that being out of breath in a negative weather before sunrise poses. He wants to see what's behind her judgy, inflexible persona.

"You're not going to reveal a different me, you know," she warns. She's onto him, of course. One doesn't find horcruxes and succeeds at destroying them without some insane deductive reasoning and he knows neither Weasley nor Potter did much of the thinking.

She proceeds to talk about her time turner in third year. How she saved the foul creature that slashed his arm. She looks pleased with herself.

"Do you still think Buckbeat deserved to die?"

"I never did. I was trying to save face."

"Have you ever stopped and counted how many living beings your pride has endangered? Or worse."

She said it as a retort but she realized and stops. Yes he has, actually.

"I can only count the ones I know of. I estimate at least twice as much total."

"Did you stop and count the people you helped too?"

"Yes. Less than ten."

Then Hermione says something that he'll keep thinking about, sometimes on purpose, to feel better. "We always take more than we give in life."

She keeps walking, unfazed. Talking about death doesn't bother her, she slips in and out of the topic like she would with buying juice.

"I need to go to the loo. I'll apparate back, just act natural and browse products, Don't talk to anyone. Seriously."

"Excuse me?"

She must be kidding.

"First, I'm not a caveman. I can talk to muggles without scaring them off. And second... don't stores have bathrooms?"

"I don't use public restrooms unless I absolutely have to," she explains. "I'm a germaphobe. I figured you'd understand, seeing as you wouldn't dare touch anything less than pristine."

Germaphobe. Why couldn't she stop giving away information on her dysfunctional personality so he could stop finding common grounds. No not common grounds. Similarities. Coincidences really. Plenty of people fostered an aversion to germs. Women in particular. Something to do with UTIs finding their way more easily through their system or something. Pansy always talked about this on her podcast, he should know.

She vanishes, leaving him in a moment of panic. Maybe he can't interact with muggles. His whole life, he's been taught to dismiss and avoid them and today he woke up with dozens of mail and electronic messages. The video of him cooking has reached the public sphere and the people have spoken. They want more.

"Would you mind grabbing this for me?"

An older woman points at paper rolls that apparently are meant to clean counters. He reaches for the highest shelf without effort and hands her the item, silent. This is not just a magic issue, he realizes, surprised Granger hasn't brought it up yet.

He's never had to clean anything, Magically or otherwise, except at Hogwarts when in detention. People want to see him do regular chores, live a normal life. More than laughing at his own expense, they want to be able to relate, know that he's no better than everyone else, that they can have a chance at his privileged life too if they know how common he can be.

"Is that your favorite brand?" He hears himself ask as a pitiful attempt at small talk.

"Oh no honey, this is the cheapest. I'm surprised it's not at the bottom of the shelf."

And then she give himself a pointed look, like he should know those things.

Granger walks back in with her own cart. She grabs the same brand but for tissues. "I just have a few things to buy for my place."

And for the first time, it occurs to him that he needs to do better for more than image, friendship or even guilt.

"Should we start recording your cashier experience?"

—

Hermione walks into an opulent building, boasting colonial statues on both sides of the entrance. Because of the Victory week-long holiday, she didn't have to rush from work and enjoyed her morning tea in her kitchen, thinking about her plans for the celebration weekend and the day before at the grocery store. Watching Malfoy use bills and explaining how credit cards work have been a handful, punctuated with a few laughters when she hovered her phone to pay with her electronic wallet and he thought muggles invented some type of cheap wand equivalent.

She responded to Malfoy's lawyers invitation to a formal appointment before her consultant position really takes off.

He's already there and immediately gets up when he sees her.

She notices something about the way Draco carries himself now. He's confident, still, but the arrogance is gone. The confidence might be fictitious too, though it feels real because he stands the same when he thinks she's not looking. He looks at her from head to toe and drags his gaze back up like he's trying to understand her, her presence, take it all in.

Sometimes he realizes he's been caught and they share a look. He never looks away.

She refrains from laughing when he pulls the chair for her and waits until she's seated.

"Is that... hum, you're very polite. I can't imagine you do that just for me."

"I do it with Pansy and my mother."

"Not Daphne?"

He chuckles. "No. She hates those kinds of things, Pureblood society nonsense, she calls it."

"Being gallant?"

"It'a an entire thing. A long list of rituals and rules, she rejects all of it. Even this."

Hermione nods. It sounds like something she would do. The lawyers come in, indulge in small talk about the Victory festivities and slide her the contract, written on a parchment. She already read the electronic version they sent, already listed all the things she wanted corrected and tweaked and sent it back to them.

They don't know she has a contract of her own, in the drawer of her nightstand, handwritten on a post-it.

He's thinking the same thing. His half smile says it all, looking at her from underneath.

One of the lawyers speaks first, bypassing small talk altogether.

"We took care of the time period, changed the date and the comma, as you requested. We also changed the royalties to world rights from seventeen to twenty-five percent, which is way above the industry's standard."

"Wait," Draco holds in hand in the air. "We said fifty,"

"Mr. Malfoy, we said we would consider the best option for everyone. We are here to protect your assets and you..."

"How is Ms. Granger receiving a quarter of royalties the best option for her?"

The air gets stuck in her throat as she listens to her school enemy advocate for her to his own legal team. It's surreal and Harry would find it bizarre, fishy, even.

The lawyer on the right trips on his own words and the other one starts looking through his paper, fuming. His vein is popping at his temple.

"Ms. Granger, I assure you that even going as high as thirty-four percent would put you in a very comfortable position..."

She laughs openly. "I'm not sure why you're still trying to convince me to bargain down when your own client is telling you to go up. I'll take nothing less than fifty."

They scoff, unbutton and rebutton their robes and cave, whispering to Malfoy that this is a mistake. Draco's leaning back in his seat, hand under his chin.

"Please proceed so we can get out of here."

"Well we have to draft the new contract, it may take..."

One look from their client and they take care of it in a flick of a wand. The contract is signed before they leave with a pop. Draco sighs. "These meetings suck years off my life each time, it seems."

"I can definitely see how. I appreciate you looking out for me."

"I've seen many people sign bad deals in this room. I wouldn't let that happen to you."

She can barely believe it. She might be able to take a sabbatical with those royalties. Wizards are going mad with the cooking competition video. The inter house rivalry has taken over Britain and alumni are meeting up to compete in bars for drinking contests, restaurants for eating competition. They invite each other and record their cooking experiments.

Brands have already contacted Malfoy's PR department to place ads of their products or make him the spokesperson, or so Lavender says. She heard it from Parvati who knows it from Blaise.

"There's something I wanted to talk to you about," he starts, yanking her out of her thoughts. His face is apprehensive.

"Yes."

"Well two actually. One is the very high probability that companies will come to you for sponsorship, deals and so on. My PR team is ready to help you make the best choices, if you'll let them."

Hermione takes a deep breath. Is this one of those life changing moments? Or was it a few days ago, when she accepted to speak with Malfoy to begin with and showed up at his place to film a silly contest? She's had a taste of fame, of course, after the war. But everything was so bleak and painful. She never wanted to capitalize on pain. How could she? Now it's different. Like she's about to be pulled in another whirlwind. A good one. It feels wholesome, it feels dumb and easy.

"Yes. I will take you up on that. Until I can put money aside to hire my own... well, one-person team, definitely not an entire department."

"You'll need a department."

"Draco. This is a fad. It will die down."

"I know. And it will die fast, which is why you need professionals to help you bank on it now and find ways for you to branch out, stay relevant, in the eyes of the public and companies. This is your chance to be someone other than a sad war hero and Potter's perfect friend."

She bites her lips, catching herself looking at his. It's strange having someone in her corner who lives and breathes business and image. Harry's money is managed by Gringotts and that's enough for him. She refused his financial help every time he offered. Ron doesn't have a lick of entrepreneurial spirit, though she tried to instill that in him, until she understood his happiness lied elsewhere. In a comfortable and secure job. Ginny has been the one launching her own life like a rocket but Hermione's barely paid any attention to the nitty gritty of things.

"The second thing is a cause I've been looking into. If you!re ok with it, I'd like it to pitch it to EnchanTech's board."

"Really? What is it?"

"Research. A new wing at St Mungo's is starting to build a team of medwizards to cure victims of memory altering spells..."

Her body freezes, throat clenching and tears pooling at her eyes. She gets up to turn around, swiping at her eyelids all while trying to regain composure.

Fuck. She's two seconds away from sobbing because she didn't expect having to think about her parents right here right now. Because she didn't expect Malfoy all of people, mentioning any sort of hope about their situation. Because there is no hope, there cannot be and most importantly she won't allow herself to foster any. It's a slippery slope.

"No," her broken voice simply says.

She turns back around, even though she knows it's too soon and her tears haven't dried.

"I'm not pitching that to anyone. They've been trying to find a cure for decades. I'm not putting myself through an entire presentation about how my family can be saved and reunited because it can't."

Her tone is increasingly accusatory. He looks terrible, his right hand on the table, like he's trying very hard not to take the two steps between them. He's considering it, she can tell. Her tears morph into some type of fury.

"Did you just come up with that? Did you think it would make me feel special? That you care about my amnesic parents? That it'll make you look good, like you tried?"

"That's not what I..."

"Isn't it though? Isn't there a small part of you that thought about the bonus points you'd gain from this?"

"I.."

"Answer me Malfoy, since you like honesty so much now. Answer me!"

Her hands are shaking and her body is in fight or flight mode.

"I'm trying to."

She scoffs, mocking, grabbing the piece of parchment on the table. She can't stand this room, this day even. What did she think? That she could have some kind of modern fairy tale?

He grabs her wrist and she yanks it out so he comes closer.

"You're right. I did think you'd add to the mental tally you keep on me and all the people you feel have wronged you but try to make amends."

She doesn't look away, jaw set and he keeps going.

"Everyone wants some type of validation for doing the right thing. It doesn't make the right thing any lesser and if you think so, you're a bigger hypocrite than I thought."

"I'm not a hypocrite, Malfoy."

The nerve he has to insult her on top of everything. He doesn't back down, digging in.

"You're standing here, yelling at me for caring. After you yelled at me for not caring before. If you don't want to pitch the cause, fine, I understand. I respect it, but don't blame my efforts."

The word triggers her blood flow all the way to her cheeks, heating her face with anger.

"Because for the first time in your life you make efforts into serving another interest than your own and you don't get a cookie for it, you feel hurt. Get over it. This happens to everyone all the time. It's called life. It's call being a functioning adult."

"You wouldn't know what a functioning adult is even if you took a semester long course about the damn thing, Granger."

She remembers then that she doesn't like him. That he's a snob little shite who escalates everything to some storm that can no longer be controlled. It's not about her parents, it's about him and his lifelong entitlement. That doesn't go away in a few days, weeks or even years. She has to leave before they both pull out their wands.

She storms out and calls Harry who picks up immediately like he always does. She knows how anxious he is to miss an important call, a life or death call and never lets a ringtone unanswered.

"What are you doing for the anniversary? Please don't tell me you're going to the Weasleys."

There's silence and a tentative answer. "Hum.. ok. I won't tell you then."

"Harry!"

"What? That's the usual plan Hermione. I mean, Ginny did say she wanted to go to Diagon and do a pub crawl, see the fireworks. I don't know... that's not really my thing. I don't want Molly to think that I didn't want to see them."

Harry's loyalty can never be shaken, it's just a matter of reminding him that he's also loyal to her.

"I can't go to their place anymore and I want to celebrate. I need to, this year. Let's do something fun. Celebrate your freedom by not obligating yourself to a boring dinner."

"Charlie, George and Bill will be there. How boring can it be? Ron is coming back for a few days. I hear Percy has a surprise to announce too and I'm fifty percent sure Molly might flip."

"Is Ginny with you?"

She needs to change tactics. A team of Weasley brothers clearly have more persuasion power than her sound argument.

"Yes. I'm giving her the phone."

"Ginny," Hermione begins with an emphatic tone. "I will go wherever you're going this Friday."

She hears laughter on the other end. "Oh thank Godric you're up for something different. I'm not spending the night consoling my mother because of Percy's bad choices. I'm wearing a skimpy outfit and doing shots. You've been warned."

"Well I don't own skimpy but I can handle my liquor. I'm texting Lavender."

By the time they finish organizing it, there's pre-gaming involved at Dean's place.

—-

Draco's watching his mother add an ingredient to the potion that starts fuming and turns green. She makes a proud exclamation.

"I was always gifted at making potions but never could pursue my passion. I've decided to take private lessons and now look at me. My friends are already begging me to offer them samples."

He's tired. His dad's still traveling, avoiding them both like dragon flu and his mother keeps chasing a new hobby every other month, insisting he sits through her final products, whatever they may be at the time.

"How safe is it to distribute this?"

He puts his company file down.

"I have an expert teaching me, you know. And don't think I don't know about you helping that girl. The mudblood."

"Mother!"

"Please. I'm not going to dilute my language in the privacy of my own home. Your lawyers talk. You should fire them. I heard it from them, how you argued with them for her money."

Never mind that it's his home. He doesn't want to indulge her into yet another argument so he remains silent, pouring himself more tea.

"She thinks she's smarter than you, clearly. And you're not even proving her wrong. I raised you better than this. You should make her sign a boudoir contract. It's the reason for your behavior, correct? You're entertaining relations with her."

He doesn't even pretend to cough on his sip. She's done it with Astoria before.

"We're not."

"Well you're thinking about it. I know a lot of my friends' sons are going for her type these days. Some trend, fetish or... progressive taste in women. She's certainly planning on it. She's poor, seeing her flame decline. Make her sign what you need to protect your inheritance, Draco. Your assets simply cannot be..,"

"Stop it, mother."

He's calm. No point losing his shit over this tired tirade. Theo should show up soon, take the heat off his private life. Narcissa has always been fond of him for some reason. And he's always known how to take advantage of it. Plus he ordered that rum Hermione had him try and pours a finger into his infusion. He's feeling good. Unbothered.

In fact, he doesn't even remember what else he says to his mother or what she tells him until the door slams.

"Since when do you use the front door?" Draco yells in the direction of the foyer. "Did they take your apparating permit again?"

Theo walks into the living room, dressed like his usual self. Some kind of dandy from another time.

"Close but no. I wanted to hear the sound of my own entrance. It just brings me joy, which, as you'll come to know, I have actively been chasing for the past few weeks."

Narcissa ignores Draco's eye roll and open her arms, from her seat, for Theo to lean into her embrace.

"Narcissa. As exquisite as that potion you are making."

For everyone else it's Mrs. Malfoy but for his oldest friend, she would accept nothing else.

"See!" She adds. "Draco refuses to take me seriously."

"Don't engage, Narcissa. I, myself, have found it's best to meet his skepticism with a smile and a glass of fine wine."

And to illustrate, Theo directs his wand towards the trap door behind the wet bar, floating a bottle from the cellar and proceeds to serve them both some century old wine.

"And to think my good word was wasted. Theodore has better manners than you Draco, but at least I know someone benefited from my education."

"I served you a drink as soon as you stepped foot here!" Draco defends himself but it's a lost cause.

"Montague's grand opening is this weekend," Theo continues. "Rooftop lounge, or pub. Couldn't tell if he was saying authenticity or fancy,"

"Those do not sound the same my dear," Narcissa points out.

"They do when Montague slurs them after six whiskeys."

"Oh, by Salazar, you boys need to slow down. If I hadn't stopped your father he probably would be opening some type of bar too, Or a barn."

"Didn't know he could even be stopped on anything..." Draco mumbles.

"Your father is a simple man who likes to think he's complicated. It seems this... Montague is the same. Spending his money on a fickle purchase..."

Draco's eyes catch Theo's.

"Well that's why we need to help. Show support and be there on Victory day."

Narcissa lets out a growl, depositing her glass on the coffee table.

"I disapprove. The end of the war should be celebrated by remembering the dead, following rituals, reading the Book, not partying like rabid animals."

"Well Draco lost his ability to party irresponsibly around seventeen, I believe. I simply had to pick up his share. It was only the right thing to do."

And despite her views, Narcissa smirks, sipping on her wine again.

Now she won't spend the weekend harassing Draco about rituals and extended family, because Theo can spin a bottle on his thumb just as easily as he can spin the truth on his tongue.

A few days later, they are on said rooftop and Draco nearly trips on his own feet. He sees the youngest Weasley first, with her fiery hair and her tiny dress. She's holding two drinks he's pretty sure she shouldn't ingest unless she plans on partying from the floor, in her own vomit.

There's Dean who greets him by raising his glass and he does the same as Pansy downs hers, adjusting her cleavage but he's not even going to go there.

Then there's Hermione with her hair out, in some kind of all white ensemble. Shorts really, all he sees are thighs for days.

"Love your romper Granger," Daphne yells and he registers that's what it's called.

She smiles and marches straight to Pansy. He steadies himself, just in case, although everyone knows Pansy needs no help. But Hermione only clinks her glass against his friends'.

"Thanks for inviting us," he hears her say, all smile and Pansy shrugs, smirking.

"I remembered how bad you needed to celebrate properly this year. Can't let those kickboxing thighs go to waste at a family dinner, can we?"

Hermione laughs a throaty laugh and drags her eyes to him.

"Happy victory," she shouts and she looks it. The happy part. He wants to bury his face in her neck because he knows exactly how her hair smells. He wonders for an instant if his mother's right but he knows she's wrong. He's nothing like her friends' sons. Hermione wouldn't even talk to him if he were, he can count on her for that. In his eyes, his allowed presence in her life adds value to his.

"Glad you ditched the Weasleys."

"I'm hungry. Buy me food," she just replies without any transition.

"Excuse me?"

He thinks he's heard that wrong probably because it doesn't make sense.

"Feed me, Draco or I'll have to stop drinking for the night and no one wants that. Not tonight. No one wants plain old anxious Hermione on victory night,"

"Some might," he can't help but argue.

"Smooth."

"Smoother than "feed me"."

She laughs and he's considering calling his favorite caterer but she would hate that. Or pretend to.

"Your friend. Ginevra. She needs food too."

"She sure does, especially because she will keep drinking either way."

He goes inside and gets menus for everyone. He guesses he's treating the entire group to dinner.

"How gentleman of you," Pansy teases as Theo shakes his head in the back, busy showing off his dance moves to Daphne and Lavender.

Draco watches Hermione shove fries into her mouth like it's her last meal or her first and she doesn't break eye contact once while doing it. It's not sexual, yet he can hardly help it, he just wants to whisper the dirtiest shit in her ear.

"We're going to talk about our last argument," she finally says in between bites. "Don't think I forgot. Just not tonight."

He's relieved but also pretty afraid of what strong points she'll have time to develop by then. If she can read him to filth on the spot, he can only imagine what she's capable of, being prepared. She's licking her fingers now and starts gulping down water.

"Come on. Bet your house didn't teach much about actual dance moves, did it? It's not Muggle culture but Hogwarts' always been stuck in the white sixties with it."

She's grabbing his hand and pulling him inside. He doesn't even dare looking around to catch his friends' glances because he has to follow her. He just has to, no matter what they'll say, no matter how much shit they'll give him in the morning. Or most likely as soon as he's within ear shot.

One second he's parting sweaty bodies with his shoulders, trying not to touch anyone and miserably failing, the next Hermione's ass is grinding on his tailor made pants, her back to him, tight curls tingling his chin.

Fuck. He doesn't know how to respond to that, he barely registers other people around him anymore. Focused on her body literally on him, moving to the bass of the song.

Desperate, he looks back, catches Ginevra, Lavender and Dean's faces. All jaws to the floor and eyes bulging out of their heads.

He bends to speak in Hermione's ear, instinctively putting his hands around her to move with her so she doesn't hit his face as she wines.

"Hermione.. Your friends seem concerned."

She laughs. "We placed a bet. They probably can't believe I won."

And she backs her rear end up and down his crotch, sending his mind to places he can't risk to wander for more than two seconds. He adjust the pressure of his fingers on her waist.

"What kind of bet?"

Her hair is softer than he could ever imagine and it smells both like cacao and the smell of cigarettes from outside.

"Get out of your own head Malfoy. The bet's not for you. Don't worry about it.

"Get out of my.,. That's unfair. I've never...l... There are way too many people."

She spins around so fast to looks up at him, furious. "You've never what? Danced like this? I know that. You so-called pure bloods put a meter distance between dance partners. But you've had asses ride you before, Draco? I'm fairly certain you know what to do. So fortify and dance with me. Unless you'd like me to stop. I will."

It sounds like a threat because he's sure of it, he will be dammed if she stops. Someone, somewhere will appear with a wand and curse him for being such a dumbass. But she softens in his arms.

"You said you could make me feel special. Tonight I need the VIP treatment. Last year I had in-laws, I had a second family to help me get over my own. This time I have nothing."

He's losing her, he can sense it, see it. She'll never go to him for comfort again if he doesn't respond the way she needs to. He drops his forehead on hers, drowning the background noise in his head.

"First off. Your ass deserves more attention than a drunken dance in a crowded pub and yes I'm very well versed in what I could do with it. To it, really."

Goosebumps appear on her arms. He's got her attention.

"Come on," he whispers.

He leads her to a corner, where the bass is deep and the crowd absent. Softly guiding her back against the wall, he presses his body against hers, one hand resting on the thick of her hair, the other at the juncture of her collar bone and jaw.

She's detailing his face like she's steadying herself for anything. He's never been so close. He can see the light makeup, the heavy glitter. He feels her hands on his sides, light, fluttering, like she's being careful not to startle him, not to scare him off.

"I can teach you how to turn your friends into your family," he says. "There's a science to it. First, give them the sigils to your wards and forget all rules. Let them show up at your place at any given time. Wait until you get very annoyed and pick a fight. Don't talk to them for days until they invite you for brunch, a house party or some other laid back excuse to get you to stuff your face and apologize to them for having the audacity to think that they wouldn't show up at 3 a.m. in your bedroom with a rare carnivorous plant that's also known to scream like a banshee. Repeat every two weeks."

Her chest heavies and lightens against his. She's snorting now.

"Oh my. Was that Nott? Zabini?"

"It's trademarked by Theo. Though Blaise and Pansy have their own version of it."

Her smiles vanishes. "Everyone thinks I'm too uptight to ever disturb my sleep past eleven."

And the sadness on her look makes him want to shout at them all for misjudging her.

"I can wake you up at 2 a.m, pretending to be drunk and demanding to play some silly board game because I'm bored."

"That's Blaise, isn't it?"

He nods. He never consoled anyone before. Well, yes but not like that. He thinks he's not so bad at it. He was with Astoria. He never knew what to say. He is with Pansy because she usually doesn't want to hear it from him. With Theo and Blaise it's different.

"Sorry I pushed my butt on you without asking, forced you to dance. I know better. It was wrong."

"Yes. I like to be prepared." He pauses and goes for it. "I'd like to be prepared next time it falls into my lap."

She bites her lips, a faint smile tugging at them that she's trying to hide.

"I thought guys liked spontaneity." And she bites her lips again like she betrayed a secret. "I've only been with Ron... and a few one-night stands."

"I like to do things right. Especially when it matters."

She exhales. "Will it matter tomorrow?"

"It mattered the day you walked into that conference room."

And he closes the breadth of a distance between them, feeling his fingers behind her neck, his other hand traveling to her hips.

She feels soft and toned and to have her in his arms is crazy. And ro think he almost risked letting her go a few minutes ago.

"Tell me how I can make tonight better for you. Make it matter."

Her eyes slides from left to right, weighing him.

"I need affection right now. And I'm not willing to trade sex for it. Not in relationships, not casually and not for whatever it is we're doing. Not anymore."

He catches his breath for a moment, wondering. Was he guilty of trading affection for sex with Astoria? She resents him for so many things. He goes through his memories and can't find any evidence of him being a prick that way and that's a first.

Hermione squeezes his waist in a silent get-out-of-your-own-head-Draco.

"I promised to give you anything you wanted. Give, not trade."

He places his hand behind her head and softly deposits a kiss on her forehead. He stays there, for a while, his lips touching her skin, fingers in her coils. It feels so fucking good to be the one she needs, to be the one there for her.

She tightens her grip on him. She's trying hard not to show it but he can feel the dampness of her tears on his shirt.

He's really not good with tears so he cradles her head, his nose in her hair, giving her the time she needs.

"We can go back to my place," he tries, carefully. "I have really soft sheets. Or go to yours if you feel more comfortable. Just for... this. Nothing else."

She nods in his shirt and he can't tell if he should be happy or anxious.

—

"Hermione!"

Ginny is marching on them and Hermione immediately pulls back from Malfoy's arms. Ginny pulls out her wand, points it at Draco's neck.

"She's been drinking and you're taking advantage of her? You filthy..."

"He's not. Ginny, please. Nothing happened. If anything, I..."

Draco cuts her off. "I see carbs finally absorbed all that ethanol in your system, Weasley."

Fuck. He's snapped back into his natural mode. This is not good.

"Don't think I won't break the challenge to jinx you Malfoy. This is exactly the kind of emergency I'm waiting for."

"How about you end the night with Potter and your herd of..."

Hermione grabs Ginny's arm and walks away before it's too late.

"What's going in with you? Grinding on Malfoy? Is everything ok? I know this is a tough night but..."

A crippling feeling of guilt grabs Hermione by the throat. She feels terrible and hugs Ginny tight.

"I'm sorry Ginny, I've only been thinking about myself. Tonight is harder for you than it is for me. I'm so sorry."

Her friend softens in her arms. "I managed to avoid the usual dinner and ended up on a luxury rooftop bar with food and drinks paid for. I have you to thank for that. Fred would be proud."

She kisses Hermione's cheek and juts her chin towards Dean, doing shots with Pansy.

"He's about to score 50 points to Gryffindor. Or lose them, depending or how you look at it," she mocks.

"First Parvati, now him... I think I'm single handedly bridging the century old gap between our two houses."

"Yeah, you're certainly making it personal. It's Draco, Hermione. Aren't you... gagging?"

And Ginny breaks into uncontrollable laughter. "Sorry. Poor choice of word. You might very well be soon. I meant... Disgusted. Yep, that's I what I meant."

"Ginny!" Hermione protests. Draco is back outside, now joining the drinking game before Blaise appears under a loud ovation. He passes an arm around Daphne and Theo, nodding to Hermione as a greeting.

"Fuck, Zabini he's hot. Don't tell Harry,"

"Don't tell Harry Zabini is hot?" Hermione jokes.

"No, it would crush him to know that there are other handsome men walking around London. You know his ego. He'd never recover. Where's Lavender?"

"Probably waiting in line on her third trip to the restroom. She's on her period."

"Poor girl. Let's get her more fries."

"She'll probably declare her love to you."

An hour later, Ginny is sobbing on the floor, Fred's name on her lips, hugged by Lavender and Hermione, rocking her.

Draco glances at Hermione and she casts him an apologetic look. There goes their plan. He understands.

She and Lavender leave to bring Ginny home.

"You know you're always welcome at the family house Hermione," Ginny slurs. "Dad loves you. Mom will get over it."

"I know Gin, I know..."

They stumble on the paved street, their heels almost straining their ankles, making them laugh each time, between sobs. They get her to her house, stay with her, watching some reruns on television, which Ginny finds delightful and Lavender hates.

"We made it another year. We made it," she sighs and Hermione agrees over Ginny's snoring.

"To a better one."

They raise their glasses, filled with effervescent ibuprofen and toast.

"You think we should wait for Harry to come back?"

"He might be playing drunk Quidditch with Ron, Fleur, Charlie and Bill. Could take a while."

"Sounds dangerous."

"For everyone else yes but Harry's an even better player inebriated. Go figure."

"Well they have enough guest rooms. We could stay. Don't think they'd mind."

They watch Ginny, tear-eyed. If only she could vanish away her friend's grief.

Harry comes back two hours later, stumbling and Lavender leaves them to crash in the guest room.

"Missed you there Hermione," he shouts in an effort to whisper.

"I missed you too. Let's brunch tomorrow... if Ginny's up for it."

He seems to instantly sober up. "Is she okay?"

Hermione wraps her arms around Harry. "As okay as she can be tonight. You know. How are you? How is Ron?"

He gazes at his sleeping wife and hugs Hermione back. "Fine. Teddy was there. It was good. We're lucky you know. To have each other."

"Yes. Yes, we are."

She leaves, feeling like the luckiest woman on earth. Families take different shapes and her friends definitely are hers now. They might not knock on her door at 3 a.m but they'll always have room for her at any time of the night.


End file.
